


Keen

by Mysteriouspast (solaas), solaas



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1685123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solaas/pseuds/Mysteriouspast, https://archiveofourown.org/users/solaas/pseuds/solaas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my version of Inquisition based on limited information from a few months ago. At this point it's definitely AU. Follows the Inquisition from its formation to the eventual repair of the Veil. Heavily features the Inquisitor and Cullen in a steamy romance. ;)</p>
<p>Some explicit NSFW content including sexual assault. *Trigger Warning*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Keen, they called her. That was the word for what she could do. 

Leora’s father was an escaped mage from someplace called “The Circle” who was found by the Dalish when he was on the brink of death--their “justice” for his daring flight. Her mother was an enchanter of armor and weapons. When they found that Leora had no magical ability of her own, her parents, indeed, her entire clan, had difficulty hiding their disappointment.

Instead of magic coursing through her fingers, she could see it in the air, in her dreams. Wisps of spirits from the Beyond danced at the periphery of her vision. Enchanted weapons blazed blue from yards away. Whispers in her Beyond journeys as she slept told her of things to come, of things that she must do. For she was keen, and such gifts cannot be ignored.

Manipulating magic was beyond her ability, but she could sense it better than any mage, and that was enough to allow her to hold her head high in her family and clan, even after a younger brother showed signs of magic and became a mage in his own right.

Still, Leora was reknown for her expertise, for her ability to sense danger, particularly in the recent past where werewolves and darkspawn menaced her clan’s peaceful existence. She was still an adolescent then, but she managed to keep her clan out of danger as much as possible, and Lanaya, the new Keeper after Zathrian’s death, heeded her advice and the clan moved west to Orlais, out of the devastation that Ferelden nearly became.

As she grew into womanhood, Leora was trained as a hunter and showed great speed and flexibility. However, she found she could not master the bow, the staple weapon of her people, and instead found her forte was in close combat with dual dar’misu, a dagger-like weapon with a hooked blade. Unfit for both sorcery and hunting, Leora was relegated to guard duty, which would have been a tedious assignment had she not convinced her Keeper to attempt trading with a local Orlesian village named Antille near the city called Verchiel. 

At first there was much hesitation on both sides but the elves’ stock of meat and furs were appreciated by the locals who mainly crafted metal and ceramic goods made from the local mines and clay pits. Over time, the affection between the two groups increased and even the Chantry was known to partake of the leather goods and foods in exchange for paper in ink. Even so, expeditions were often seen as potentially perilous and Leora’s keen eye was always welcome on these expeditions.

It was one of these expeditions that changed her life irrevocably in ways even her dreams kept from her.

On a crisp fall morning, Leora awoke early, wracked with pain she had never known. Her agonized cries roused her family sleeping next to her in the aravel. And when they could not quiet her, the hunters on watch also arrived, thinking there must be an attack. But there was nothing wrong with her, at least, nothing they could see. The Beyond that was always so near to Leora was cracking like ice on lake put under too much strain.

When she regained her senses, Leora spoke to Keeper Lanaya and her own brother, Fentas, who was Lanaya’s apprentice, her first. She spoke of what she saw and felt--the devastation that would ensue as the broken border between their world and the beyond would continue to crack, and those cracks to widen if no one stopped them. 

“How do we repair these cracks?” Lanaya asked, her wariness evident.

Leora clenched her jaw before speaking. She was not used to being questioned by anyone, not even the Keeper. “I do not know, Keeper, nor will I until I can see one of these cracks for myself.”

Lanaya turned her gaze from Leora to Fentas. “How could something like this happen?” She paused and said with more urgency, “Can something like this happen?”

Fentas’ green eyes roved from Lanaya to Leora and back to the Keeper. “There is no limit to what can aneihappen if the Beyond is involved, Keeper. My father told me that.”

Lanaya frowned. “It would have been nice to speak to Aneirin of these matters--I believe he could tell us much. But he has not shown his face here since we set up camp near Antille.”

Fentas smiled apologetically. “True, but he will not stay away forever. He cannot fully part from my mother.” He turned back to Leora, whose focus had dissipated as she considered the enormity of what had transpired in the night. She was certain that there would be dire consequences for the breach in the Beyond, certain of it. But what to do? What could she possibly do?

“Keeper, I ask to investigate this...occurrence. Please allow me to take some of the scouts with me. I can feel that one of fissures is nearby, northwest near Montsimmard. If I can see it for myself, I can know how it will affect the clan and what, if anything, can be done.” 

Lanaya stroked her chin, pondering this unusual situation. Leora knew that hesitation from the Keeper usually meant a negative reply. Again, she was unaccustomed to being questioned, but then again, she had never requested her clan’s scant resources to investigate one of her “hunches” before. If the Keeper refused, she would simply go by herself. She could do nothing else as the memory of the terrible pain inside her body would torment her until her curiosity was satisfied.

Luckily, Fentas came to her rescue, as usual. “Keeper, I agree with Leora. It is less than a day’s journey away and if it is nothing, very little is lost. But, Keeper,” he paused dramatically, lowering his voice to its most somber level. “Keeper, I can assure you it is not nothing.”

“I know it’s not, much as I might hope that your sister might be wrong.” Lanaya levelled her grey eyes with Leora’s blue-green ones. “You are never wrong, Leora, and as much as I’d like to believe we are all safe, I know it is not so. Take what you need and go quickly. I will not be able to rest until you return.”

Leora allowed a pale smile to cross her lips and replied, “Ma serrannas, Keeper. I will inconvenience the clan as little as possible.”

“Not to contradict you, da’mi,” Fentas piped up, “but I must insist on accompanying you.”

Lanaya’s face turned sharply to her apprentice. “Fentas? What are you--”

Fentas shook his head. “Abelas, Keeper. I simply cannot let my sister go on this journey alone. She will need magical protection--they all will. I must go with them, for surely you cannot.”

Clearly, the Keeper wanted to protest, to refuse. But seeing the resoluteness in Fentas face, the stubbornness in his stance, told her that any veto would be met with resistance or, more likely, disregard, was enough to cause her to relent. Lanaya nodded tersely and held her arms at length, her hands open. “Dareth shiral, my clansmen. Please make haste on your journey.”

Leora breathed a sigh of relief and caught the bare edge of her brother’s wink as she bowed to the Keeper. “Ma serannas, again, Keeper. You will have news tomorrow, I swear it.” 

Fentas and Leora walked quickly back to the main encampment. Fentas chattered about provisions and preparations while Leora brooded deeply in thought. She prayed to the Creators that she was not endangering her brother with her self-assigned duty. She could not ignore what she felt, what she was still feeling like a thousand slivers wriggling under her skin. She looked up at the pale blue morning sky and saw no sign of what was to come.

Back at camp, Leora equipped herself in her Ironbark armor and sheathed her twin dar’misu at her hips. She then gathered two scouts, Gisyll (well known for her quick-thinking) and Dinthien (the stealthiest member of the clan.) Fentas busied himself gathering a few provisions for the day’s journey. As she finished speaking to the two scouts, Leora’s mother, Amalthia, approached, her expression unreadable.

Leora tried to hide her face from her mother, feeling very much like a naughty child caught in the act. Amalthia was shorter than Leora by several inches, but still held an impressive presence. “Is what they’re saying true? You and Fentas are leading an expedition near Montsimmard?” she demanded, her hands on her hips.

“Yes, Mamae,” Leora replied, reverting back to childish nicknames. “Something is terribly wrong. I felt it this morning and I still feel it. We must know what is happening.”

Amalthia’s expression softened a bit. “Must you both go? Both of my children?”

“It was Fentas’ decision. I did not want to involve him.”

Her mother looked off in Fentas’ direction as he led two halla towards them with thick rope harnesses. “That, I believe,” she said wearily. She handed Leora a few small bottles with a deep red liquid. “Your father’s work. In case you get hurt,” she said. When Leora took them, Amalthia grabbed her wrist, quick as lightning and pulled her close. “You’d better not get hurt, da’len.”

By this time, Fentas was upon them and pulled Leora out of her mother’s grasp. “Mother, we are going to investigate the problem. We will not engage, I promise,” he said. 

Amalthia sighed and walked off, muttering something about not always getting to decide whether to engage or not. Leora and Fentas watched her go. When she was safely out of earshot, Fentas handed Leora the tether to one of the halla. “We ride when you are ready.” Leora looked at him, startled. “I know this is unorthodox, but we both agree that swiftness is called for and there is no time to ready an aravel.” They looked over as Gisyll and Dinthien neared them, also leading halla. “If we ride, the journey will only take a few hours. The Halla Keeper said these four were willing to take us.”

“All right,” Leora said. “We ride northwest towards Montsimmard.” No time to argue. She could feel that every moment they wasted was only increasing the danger. Leora looked the halla in its big black eyes and couldn’t remember the last time she actually rode one. The halla lowered its head, indicating its assent to be mounted. Without a word, Leora jumped up lightly, settling into the simple saddle on the halla’s back. Her companions did the same and they were off.


	2. Chapter 2

The halla were swift and the foursome arrived at their destination sooner than they had anticipated. The sun was still making its ascent to midday when they noticed that they sky was changing from hazy blue to an ashen green. It was unsettling, even to the halla. Still they pressed onward until the sky grew dark, though it was only midday, and the only light was vivid green rays that seemed to erupt from a zigzagging line in the sky. Leora stopped and dismounted. She could hear shouts and smell smoke nearby, the unmistakable sounds of battle. Leora motioned for the others to follow her and they all made their way to a small copse of trees that could provide some cover. The nearer they got to the breach in the sky, the louder the screams, the more pungent the smells of smoke and blood.

Under the cover of trees, Leora crouched down at the treeline to finally see what in the name of the Creators was happening. She looked down into a shallow valley that had a small human village, in appearance much like the human settlement Antille, but this one was half on fire. Fentas crouched down next to her and was uncharacteristically silent. Leora could see people running in a blind panic away from some very large creatures that chased them. Suddenly, another group of people, clearly some sort of warriors intervened and the battle began.

“What are those huge things?” Fentas asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Leora clenched her jaw and muttered, “Demons,” through gritted teeth. “Their forces are no match. When the demons are done desolating this area, they will move on to ours.” She turned her body towards her three companions and shouted, “We must destroy them! We have surprise on our side. Stay hidden and take them down.”

“How do we defeat demons?” Dinthien asked, fear creeping into his voice.

“They are no different from any other creature.” She stood and began descending into the valley. “Stay hidden,” she commanded. “Use your bows from a distance, from the shadows.” She met her brother’s eye. He looked terrified and she hoped his expression did not mirror her own. “Fentas, you’re with me. Keep me alive and help anyone you can.”

“Yes,” her brother managed in a cracking voice.

Leora had no idea where this courage that possessed her came from. She had seen demons a few times before. Once when some escaped circle mages had set up camp on the outskirts of the dales. The templars had come for them in short order and the mages, in desperation, had summoned two rage demons that nearly set the forest on fire. Luckily, the templars had been well-ready for the demons and the mages and made short work of all of them--they were even polite enough to carry the bodies away so the Dalish had no cleanup to worry about. 

The second time involved her own father, Aneirin. Before they fled the Brecilian forest for Orlais, he had found himself outside of their camp, deep in the forest. Leora, still not even a teenager, sought him out at her mother’s behest, to bring him supplies and to check up on him. Aneirin did this often, leaving the clan to be alone in the forest for weeks, sometimes months at a time. He never could explain his need for solitude, just that he sometimes felt most himself when he was alone, and, strangely, Leora could relate to that. When she found him in the forest, he had set up camp near that of an insane hermit who lived in a tree stump of all things. Some bandits happened by, as they often did, and harassed the old man, who quickly retaliated by conjuring demons and shades almost effortlessly. Leora’s father had clamped his hand on her mouth, stifling her urge to scream and run. Instead he whispered that she must stay still as the demons slaughtered the bandits then disappeared instantly. When she had calmed down, he told her that the problems of the shemlen were not theirs and they should not intervene when they were not directly engaged. “Stealth is the only friend of the Dalish,” he had said.

Until now, she had believed him. But something inside her revolted when she saw the innocent people running for their lives. From far away they didn’t look like Elvhen or Shemlen, just helpless souls fleeing in terror. What did it matter who they were? The demons would make no distinction between races and nor could she any longer. Leora stood, nodded to each of her companions and clasped her brother on the shoulder. “Come, now,” she ordered with steel in her voice. “We move.”

With that she half ran, half slid down the hill. Nearing the village, the sounds and smells were nearly overwhelming. It was an advantage, she realized. Amid the chaos, four more people would be entirely unnoticed. Dinthien and Gisyll were already out of her sight, clinging to the shadows as she instructed. Fentas was right behind her. She motioned for him to take shelter behind a wooden stable as she continued forward. The demons--there were at least a dozen of them--had made it to the square in the center of the village. It was there that the shemlen warriors were making their stand. 

They were outnumbered. She counted only four remaining with three immobile on the ground. Two of them were clearly Orlesian Chevaliers, as were the three fallen, but the other two were completely different. One was a female with armor dark like the night sky, wielding a weapon that was as long as Leora was tall. The other was even stranger--a dwarf with a huge crossbow that resembled a trebuchet. The four of them engaged the demons, who were of a variety Leora had never seen before. Many of them looked like deformed men with dessicated faces and jaws full of snarling teeth. The one the woman was fighting was enormous, easily twice her height and swiped at her with long claws. 

One of the smaller demons had backed the dwarf against a ruined stone wall. He struggled to reload his crossbow as the creature closed the distance. Wordlessly, Leora flanked the creature and drove her dar’misu deep into its back. The demon shrieked and turned to face her. As it twisted its head, she swiped with her second weapon, severing its head. She made the briefest of eye contact with the dwarf who quickly looked right past her and fired his weapon into a second demon that sprinted towards them, sending it flying several yards back. Leora leapt forward, landing on its chest and driving her dar’misu deep into its neck. 

The dwarf was by her side in an instant and they both looked towards the huge demon that towered over the female warrior, who clutched her side in agony. Leora rushed forward, staying out of the monster’s peripheral vision. Two arrows from the dwarf landed in its side before she could reach it and drive both dar’misu simultaneously into its back before wrenching them free again. With a piercing screech, it whirled around, shooting flames from its fingertips. Leora barely managed to roll out of the way and regain her footing before it advanced on her. She sidestepped it as it attempted to slash her with its claws, and drove her weapon deep into the flesh on its side before leaping out of the way again. 

This time, there was no surprise to be overcome and the demon brought its arm down, releasing a flurry of ice and wind in her direction. Leora stumbled backwards, slowed by the numbing cold and the shock of it knocked her legs out from under her. Blind fear seized her. The demon was upon her and there was nothing she could do. Before it could rip her to shreds, she heard scream in agony as the female knight drove her sword deep into its back. 

Her fear and paralysis suddenly abated, Leora sprang up and, in a flurry of motion, drove her dar’misu into its midsection over and over again until it fell. With its enormous form now flat on the ground, Leora met the dark eyes of the woman who saved her life. The other three warriors were at her side now, the smaller demons all destroyed. 

Leora looked around and saw that several of them had Dalish arrows in them, the work of her scouts. She called out in elvish and her three companions emerged from the shadows. Both groups stood looking at each other, four on four, saying nothing.

Then they heard a high-pitched whine coming from the sky above. Leora had all but forgotten the crack in the Beyond that had called her there. 

“More demons coming!” the dwarf shouted and readied his bow.

No, this couldn’t be happening. This breach would continue to spew demons until it was closed. But how to close it. Leora closed her eyes and listened to it, heard its faint humming of a plaintive song. The Beyond did not want to be broken--it needed healing. But how to close it?

“What do you need?” she whispered almost inaudibly, and listened harder, willing herself to focus only on its dirgeful song. Suddenly, another sound eclipsed the melody--it was the sound of a beating heart, coming from the demon they just felled. The breach needs its heart to close, to mend itself. She looked back into the sky and the breach is too far up for her to throw the heart. How…?

 

“Ready yourselves,” the dwarf warns, cocking the huge bow. A crossbow that enormous would be powerful indeed, powerful enough to… perhaps? Yes, that was the only way.

In an instant, Leora was upon the large demon’s chest, and with a deft motion, sliced deep into its flesh. With her other arm, she reached deep into its ribcage and wrenched the heart free. Everyone was looking at her now, their expressions ranging from confusion to horror. 

There was no time to explain. She snatched an arrow from the dwarf’s quiver with her clean hand and drove it deep into the heart with the other, hoping the barb would hold it. Leora then thrust the arrow in front of the dwarf and barked, “Shoot it into the breach!” The dwarf merely balked. “NOW!” she screamed and he was too startled and bewildered to do anything other than she commanded. 

The dwarf discarded the loaded arrow and replaced it with the one that impaled the demon’s foul heart. The screeching sound coming from above intensified and in the distance, she could hear the feral cries of the demons getting closer. Apparently, it was all the incentive the dwarf needed and he shot true into the breach.

For a moment nothing happened, even as they all looked at the breach expectantly. Then there was a loud rumbling sound as the ground began to shake. Everyone steadied themselves as harsh winds from the sky drove them to their knees. Leora looked up to see the green light turn to a blinding white and she shielded her eyes in time to miss the blast that knocked them all senseless.


	3. Chapter 3

Flat on her back, Leora opened her eyes to see nothing but a beautiful, clear blue sky. It was over.

Gisyll helped her to her feet as the humans and dwarf recovered as well. The female warrior, clearly in charge, stepped forward but then staggered, her hand holding her bloody side. 

“Leora?” Fentas asked, standing beside her.

Leora nodded and Fentas slowly walked up to the female, his staff drawn. “I am a healer, Lady Knight,” he said softly. “May I?”

She groaned in response and nodded, removing her helmet. She was younger than Leora expected, with a shock of black hair and tanned skin. Fentas whispered a few words and smoky white light erupted from his fingertips and flew to the woman’s wounds. She groaned again and wavered, but then stood up straight.

“My thanks,” she said in a thick Orlesian accent. Then she turned to the Chevaliers. “Round up the survivors,” she said in a voice of calm authority. “Let them know the threat is over.” The Chevaliers bowed and made haste back into the village.

“A Dalish, eh?” the dwarf was at her side. With the battle over, Leora could finally get a good look at him. Varric had aquiline features, light brown eyes, and long, fair hair that was half pulled back from his face. He wore surprisingly colorful leather armor that was open wide at the chest to reveal more hair than she had ever seen on a person. “The name’s Varric Tethras,” he said offering his hand and she found herself grasping it in return. “A pleasure. Would you do me the honor of telling me who you are and how you came to be here?”

Varric’s manners were surprising to Leora and she struggled with the notion that he was somehow mocking her. Fentas, finished ministering to the female warrior, had rejoined them and offered his hand in friend ship. “I am Fentas Melanni and this is my sister, Leora. We hail from the Sarithin clan,” he said grandly, also indicating the scouts who looked decidedly uncomfortable with all of these introductions.

“You didn’t answer the second question,” the female warrior interjected in her husky voice.

“This is Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast,” Varric announced, as though that title would mean anything to them. “And she’s right--you didn’t tell us why you’re here. Or the most interesting part.” He looked Leora square in the eye. “How did you know how to close the tear in the Veil?”

The Veil… must be what they call the Beyond. How could she explain? Even her own clan couldn’t understand her. Leora became acutely aware that everyone was staring at her expectantly. “It’s… complicated…” was all she could manage.

Varric grinned and clapped her on the back. “Good! My favorite kind of story!” For a brief moment, he reminded her of Fentas.

“We should thank you,” Cassandra said gravely. “Without you...however you did it...we all would have been lost.”

Leora did not know how to respond, so she simply nodded.

Cassandra looked at Varric. “The Divine needs to see her. Immediately.”

“Agreed,” the dwarf replied. “I doubt she expected us to succeed. Imagine how happy she’ll be with a heathen Dalish to thank for it.” Leora blinked hard at his characterization. “I mean that in the best possible way, of course,” he added and for some reason, she believed he did mean it as a compliment.

Leora took a step back. She had the information she needed, had contained the danger. But something inside her continued to twist. They closed the breach, but distantly she was certain there were more cracks in the Beyond. Perhaps many more. There was no way to find them alone with the scant resources of the Dalish.

“I agree to a meeting with your Divine,” she said with more confidence than she felt. Dimly, she heard Fentas blurt her name out in shock and added, “only if you can assure my safety.”

“Your… safety?” Varric asked with wonder in his voice. “You saved us all… what danger could we possibly be--?”

Leora silenced him with a hard look that told of the years, the centuries of persecution by the shemlen, their Chantry, and their Divines.

“We swear no harm will come to you,” Cassandra said with a small bow. “You have my word in front of the Maker.”

“Sod your Maker,” Fentas retorted. “If she’s going with you, if she’s sure this is a good idea--” he gave her an angry sideways glance. “I’m going with her for added protection.”

Cassandra looked nonplussed. “Of course you are welcome,” she said. “But we must make haste. The keep is not far from here and we should try to make it by nightfall.”

With an exchanged glance, Leora and Fentas fell into step behind Cassandra and Varric.

A couple hours later, they had reached the imposing stone armaments just outside Montsimmard. The Chevaliers also accompanied them, introduced as Godfroi de Foi and Thibault Courcelle. Leora had long since dismissed the two scouts, telling them to return back with the halla and tell the clan what had transpired. Also, to be on alert should the shemlen not keep their word.

As they approached the heavy wooden gates, shouts could be heard from the walls as the guards announced their arrivals. In the distance, Leora could hear the unmistakable sounds of cheering and celebration. Two men swung open the gates and, with some trepidation, Leora and Fentas walked inside.

They made it as far as the courtyard before an older woman in Chantry robes surrounded by an entourage of Chantry personnel and Templars converged upon them.

“Cassandra!” the older woman, possibly a reverend mother, called out. “Thank the Maker you’re alive!” Cassandra and the Chevaliers fell instantly to their knees at the woman’s feet. Varric reluctantly did the same. 

“Your excellency,” Cassandra said, still bowing your head. “The Maker granted us victory today.”

“The Dalish granted you victory today,” Fentas whispered and was met with a quick elbow to the ribs from his sister.

The older woman turned her attention to Leora and Fentas. If she was offended that they remained standing, she made no indication. “Who are these…” she began struggling for a term.

Varric piped up this time. “These are two of the Dalish who unexpectedly came to our aid. We would not have survived without their intervention, your Excellency.” The look on the older woman’s face changed from puzzlement to admiration in a flash. “In fact,” Varric continued, pointing a finger directly at Leora, “this one managed to close the tear. By herself.”

The woman gasped and Leora mumbled to Varric in embarrassment, “You helped.”

The older woman stepped up to Leora. The amount of deference shown to her meant she was an important person indeed. Even so, she had no sense of pomp or grandeur about her, only an air of respectability that Leora found fascinating. She had never known a shemlen to wield such power without an obvious gluttony for it. The woman took Leora’s hands in hers and said, “I am Divine Justinia. We are all in your debt.” Leora’s embarrassment increased tenfold and she felt her ears grow hot. 

“I… It was…” she faltered, trying to find a way to meet Justinia’s gratitude and praise. No one had ever fawned over her like this and she had no idea how to handle it gracefully. “I only did what I had to,” she managed, immediately regretting her words.

Justinia gave a knowing smile and simply said, “True words, indeed, my friend. I suppose this is an elven secret of dealing with the Veil. We are glad you shared it with us, then.”

“It is no such thing,” Fentas interrupted. “There is no Dalish method for closing cracks in the Beyond-- in the Veil. My sister is gifted, though she would never admit it.” Justinia and all of her entourage looked at Leora with renewed interest and Leora began fantasizing of ways to murder her brother and his big mouth. 

“What do you mean?” Justinia asked.

Leora suddenly found the need to speak for herself. “My people call it Keenness. It is rare, even amongst us.” She paused, searching for the words to explain. “I have… an affinity for the Beyond. I can sense magic and when the Beyond cracked this morning, I could feel it down to my very soul and followed the sound of the breach to where we met your people.”

The Divine placed her hand on Leora’s shoulder and leaned in closely. “You feel it now, don’t you? The wounded Veil calls to you… I can see it in your eyes.” There was compassion in the old woman’s voice, and something else Leora couldn’t place.

Leora found herself speechless again and Justinia said nothing for a moment. She simply scrutinized Leora to the point that the elf could no longer make eye contact. Finally she said softly, “We have something to discuss, then.” With a wave of her hand, Justinia sent her entourage off to prepare the hall for the night’s feast, leaving only herself, Cassandra, and Varric with the two elves.

When they were gone, Cassandra jerked her head towards Leora with an expression full of surprise and comprehension. “The Inquisition?” Cassandra asked.

Justinia nodded and said, “It is time. The dangers can no longer be ignored. Clearly this Dalish was sent to us by the Maker himself to guide us through these dark times.”

“An interesting choice,” Varric commented.

Leora suddenly got the feeling that they were speaking about her in terms she could not understand, planning out things for her she did not agree to. “What is your meaning?” she demanded. “What is an Inquisition?”

Justinia sighed and pressed her fingertips to the sides of her nose. “The Veil has been sundered. We don’t know how or why but we have been getting reports of thinning of the Veil and demons falling from the sky throughout Orlais, even to Ferelden and beyond. The problem is that these tears seem to shift and move quickly, and we never know where they will appear next. We were lucky today that we happened to be nearby. And that you were close enough to feel it.” Justinia fixed Leora with an intense gaze. “The Maker, whether you believe in him or not, has called you to this great task. You alone can find the tears, you alone knew how to seal them.” She folded her arms and leaned back, taking Leora in completely. “I am assembling the Inquisition and you will lead it to victory.”

Leora didn’t know whether to laugh or cry of the absurdity of it all. “You want me, a Dalish, to lead some sort of Chantry mission?” Justinia nodded. “Me? I wouldn’t even know the first thing about it.” Justinia’s expression did not change. In desperation, Leora cried, “How do you expect me to lead anything for the Chantry? What shemlen would obey me? What Templar would follow my banner?”

Cassandra spoke next: “The Inquisition operates outside of the Chantry. It is sanctioned by the Divine and then is accountable to no one. Varric and I owe you our lives and we will follow your banner.” Leora blinked hard, her mouth open in surprise. “We will recruit others, establish strongholds for the Inquisition.” She smiled confidently. “We will be victorious.”

Leora was unmoved. “We will most likely meet a violent death!” she shouted. Then she looked at her brother who was positively gray in the face. “I cannot do this. I cannot abandon my people for this... madness!”

“How can we repay your people, then?” Justinia countered. “What could we give them that would make up for your loss, assuming you would not survive.” By the Creators, she was resolute on this decision and Leora was certain that this strong-willed woman was not accustomed to relenting.

“Land,” her brother blurted out. “We want land of our own, and a promise from Orlais and the Chantry that we will be left in peace.”

Leora turned on her brother. “What did you just say?” she cried in a veritable panic. 

“You said it yourself, sister.” Fentas replied quietly. “If the Beyond is not repaired, none of us are safe. The demons will kill this all. There will be no Dales, no Dalish. You are the first Keen Dalish in several generations and now we know why. I believe her that you were called to do this.” He affectionately brushed some hair back from Leora’s face with a soft smile on his lips. “I’ve always known you were destined for great things, but that you would not remain with us, much like Father.”

“Fentas…” Leora began but the words died in her throat. He was right and she had known as soon as she left the camp that there would be no return.

Fentas stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “Do you agree to our terms? We want the Dales and the land surrounding them. It is uninhabited and would make acceptable farmland.”

Justinia did not flinch. “Agreed. You have my word.” She shook Fentas’ hand.

“We’d like that word in writing, just to be on the safe side,” he replied and the Divine gave him a rueful smile. 

“I’ll see it done immediately,” she replied. “You must take it back with you to your people. I will see copies are sent to the local village mayors and reverend mothers. I trust that is acceptable.”

Fentas seemed satisfied and Leora was at least glad that her clan would receive compensation for her absence. Indeed, it was more than she could ever provide them. So the Divine and the Sarinthin clan had struck an agreement. In a goodbye too sad for tears, Leora bid her brother farewell, for what, she believed, would be forever. He made her promise to send messages to him somehow, both knowing that he was asking her to lie.

Then he was gone and Leora stood alone in the courtyard, feeling more at a loss than she ever had. She was not there long before the dwarf approached her. “There’s a celebration in the main hall he said,” with an inviting smile. “You must be starving. I know I am!”

Leora shuddered at the thought of celebrating after everything that had happened. She looked down at the dwarf, who was about half a head shorter than her but still managed to look masculine and commanding. Maybe it was the crossbow. There was a kindness in his eyes that she had not expected from a non-Dalish. Perhaps he was as used to misunderstanding and prejudice from shemlen as she was.

“Come on, Dalish.” She didn’t move. “You have to eat.”

“Why me?” She looked up at the sky as though it might erupt again at any moment, then back at Varric. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sure it does,” Varric said soothingly. “You have… an ability that is useful, no, necessary to repairing the Veil. Of course she needs you. We all do.”

“I understand that,” Leora replied in a weary voice. “So have me join the expedition. Why have me lead it? I am no Chantry Templar. What reason could she possibly have to put me in command?”

“Ah,” Varric said, clucking his tongue. “I see you Dalish have no understanding of politics.” Leora’s brow furrowed at what she believed to be an accusation of naivete. “Must be nice,” he continued. “I can see that you’re unaware of the turmoil going on in the human world. Let me sum it up for you: there’s a three-way civil war going on between the mages, the templars, and the chantry. All three are vying for freedom, or power, or what have you. But no one knows who to trust. The Inquisition is supposed to be free of all of these ties, beholden to none of these factions, only concerned with protecting Thedas. Now do you understand why she chose you?”

“I’m an outsider,” Leora said with a growing sense of comprehension.

“Completely,” Varric agreed. “None of these warring factions can claim you owe allegiance to their enemies. You’re here to do a job and you won’t get bogged down in their squabbling because it has nothing to do with you. Now you see why the Divine chose you. She may look like a harmless old lady, but she’s a shrewd governor and she knows how to play politics better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I can see that,” Leora said, impressed.

“Now, how about that meal?” Varric asked, leading her by the arm into the Keep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's about to get dark, y'all. Here's some of that trigger warning material....

The cold, fading autumn sunlight from outdoors was quickly replaced by the warm, smoky great hall illuminated by more candles than Leora had ever seen in one place. Varric was an informative escort, pointing out who everyone in the hall was, in addition to their relative importance and tossing in some revealing anecdotes for good measure. 

Finally, Cassandra pulled him aside and told him she needed to talk to him about preparations for the morning. Leora nodded politely to both of them and set her sights on the banquet table, suddenly noticing her gnawing hunger. She had not eaten since the morning when she was still in the Dalish camp with her family. Her family that she would most likely never seen again.

Leora swallowed hard against the emotions rising within her and investigated the strange foods and delicacy that littered the large table in the center of the room. Unsure of most of it was, Leora filled her plate with what seemed simplest and poured herself a cup of dark wine. Looking back at the hall, she could see that many people were already grouped together in merry conversation over their meals. Where would she sit amongst these strangers? Cassandra and Varric were still deep in conversation (or was it an argument) near an alcove and waiting for them might seem, well, rather pathetic.

Spying an empty seat at the end of one of the tables, Leora started heading that way only to be stopped mid stride by the hulking figure of a very large man.

“Greetings, Inquisitor,” he intoned in a loud voice that was obviously slowed by drink. Somewhere a plate clattered and conversations hushed. Leora had the distinct sensation of being watched by many eyes.

In that second, she recognized the man: it was Thibault Courcelle, one of the Chevaliers that she fought with under the breach in the Beyond. He was older than she expected, based on his quick movements in the skirmish. His dark hair and beard showed a peppering of grey and his face was marred by a series of brown spots. Somehow out of his armor, he looked even larger than he had in it. It didn’t help that she was always at a height disadvantage with humans and absently wondered how Varric must feel, being at an even greater disadvantage.

Thibault stared expectantly at her, but she had no idea what he wanted as these little court pleasantries were unknown and, frankly, baffling. “Ser Courcelle,” she said, trying not to sound dismissive and attempted to sidestep him to find her place at a table.

He adroitly blocked her path and said, “Hold a moment, Inquisitor.” She looked up at him again, feeling even more diminutive as he leaned down towards her. “I wish to congratulate you, Inquisitor--” he said the word as though he had something foul in his mouth-- “on your new title.” He gestured expansively to the men surrounding them in the hall and Leora became quite aware of the group of Chevaliers who had quietly gathered around the two of them. “We were all quite surprised at the Divine’s choice.” He smiled at her with large white teeth that probably cost a small fortune to maintain. But there was no mistaking the rage and malice in his eyes. This conversation was best terminated quickly.

Leora tried to look apologetic, knowing the deference these pompous knights expected, especially from elves, from female elves. “No one was more surprised than I, Ser Courcelle,” she said, averting her eyes. The crowd of knights had eliminated all quick escape routes. 

“You don’t think it’s strange that you show up out of nowhere and suddenly you take the position I earned?” His voice was getting louder and the drunk Chevaliers more riled up. He leaned closer to her so she could see the lines around his narrowing dark eyes. “I earned that, elf.”

Clearly the false humility tack was not working. Left with no other option, Leora straightened herself up and looked him square in the eye. “This was not my choosing any more than it was yours.” She turned to go, determined to elbow through a couple Chevaliers if she needed to. “If you are dissatisfied with the turn of the events, take it up with the Divine.” She stepped forward and pushed her way through the crowd with an anemic “excuse me” as she bumped into two of the knights.

Leora did not look anywhere but straight ahead until she sat down at the now-empty table and decided to busy herself in her food and drink. She did not look up, did not want to show the fury inside her at the presumption and superciliousness of that ridiculous Chevalier who dared to question her, to try to shame her in front of his fellows. 

Alone, in a room full of people she hoped to never see again, Leora ate and fumed.

* * *

Things quieted down after that bizarre confrontation and Thibault and his knights gathered in a corner of the room near the wine barrels, joking and singing. Cassandra, Varric and Justinia had completely vanished by the time Leora took a survey of the room again.

Much of the hall was empty, the feast-goers most likely headed back to their rooms or posts. Unsure of where to go and feeling somewhat abandoned, Leora flagged down a friendly-looking server to help her find her lodgings. An elf, naturally.

As he led her down the hall, she could tell he wanted to question her about the Dalish--most City Elves did. For many of them, the Dalish were a myth, a pleasant bed-time story to tell their children about the possibility of life outside of servitude and squalor. Most of them would go their whole lives without interacting with one of her people, a sad fact that was made necessary by the hostility shown to the Dalish by the shemlen. 

She could have opened up to him, invited him to ask her questions, but her bad humor from her earlier confrontation with Thibault soured her mood to the extent that she wanted to talk with no one. She would be traveling with Varric and Cassandra the next day for the interminable future and, knowing at least the dwarf’s proclivities for banter, thought it best to enjoy her last night in peace.

The server clearly knew which room was hers as it had obviously been prepared for her. The chamber was larger than any room she had ever seen with warm-colored tapestries covering its stone walls. A small candle on the bedstand was the only source of light. And the bed, by Mystral, the bed! She had never seen anything so grand and lavish with its ornately carved wood posts and overstuffed feather mattress. A simple night chemise was laid out for her--thoughtful since she had brought no supplies, only the armor on her back. Fatigue stealing over her, Leora changed into her bed clothes and slid into the sheets of the bed, anticipating a good night’s sleep in such comfort.

Of course, things never turn out that way.

Leora woke quickly when she heard a quick rap at her door and a muffled voice calling for help. Without thinking, she rushed to the door and unbolted it, barely jumping out of the way as the man in the hallway flung it open. A hand darted out of the darkness and wrapped itself around her neck, its thumb pressing against the side of her throat--not enough to choke her, but enough to make a point.

Her eyes focused on the man who entered the room and shut the door behind him. It was Thibault--of course it was. 

He dug his fingers into the side of her neck and pulled her close to his face so that her toes barely touched the ground. His breath reeked of wine and bitterness as he whispered, “Scream and I’ll snap your neck in an instant. Do you understand?” His voice was even slower and less articulate than it had been in the banquet hall. Clearly, he had spent the last few hours soaking himself in drink and summoning up the nerve to… do what, exactly? A tense ball in the pit of her stomach told Leora she had a very good guess at what he wanted from her.

“Do you understand,” Thibault repeated, shaking her in his hand. 

Leora nodded.

“Good,” he purred menacingly, the moonlight glinting off of his shiny teeth that were bared in a bizarre grin. “Now, listen to me, Dalish. No one embarrasses me, first by taking what’s mine, then by snubbing me in public.” Leora clenched her jaw, knowing that pointing out that it was he who tried to force a confrontation would be pointless. She thought about her weapons on the side table near the bed. They might as well be in Lake Calenhad for all the good they’d do her.

The Chevalier continued his rant, “Especially not some country knife-ear!” His face was barely an inch from hers and small sprays of spit coated her face as he mumbled with rapidly depleting coherence. “Unlike you, I have honor, a reputation among my fellow knights.”

Leora still said nothing, trying to calculate a way to get out of his grip, across the room, and to her weapons. The Chevalier had come to her practically in his underclothes: a heavy shirt and breeches, and unarmed. There was no way she could match him in an unarmed fight--despite his extreme inebriation, he was still too massive to be bested without her weapons. Escape was a possibility, but he was between her and the door and she could find no way to reverse their positions easily.

She looked back into his face and saw that same sinister smile from earlier. It turned her stomach. “Don’t worry--you can make it up to me, wench. You see, I wagered with the others that I would bed you tonight and I intend to win the wager.” Thibault leaned in further and slammed his lips against Leora’s, jamming his tongue into her mouth. She fought against the rising tide of nausea and turned away as best she could. She wanted to punch, slap, kick him, but knew the futility of such gestures.

Thibault released her lips, but tightened his grip on her neck. “It’s up to you, knife-ear, how this will happen. Will you agree, or will this get… messy?” 

Leora’s voice would not come, her neck too bruised to allow her to speak easily. Instead she whispered, “As you will, my lord,” in a voice she hoped sounded demure and compliant.

Suddenly, she found her feet back on the floor, the sweaty hand encircling her neck releasing her. She took a deep, full breath of cool air and knew she had to act quickly. Her weapons were still out of reach, but she could perhaps get to them…

Leora fingered the buttons at the nightgown’s collar, slowly undoing the clasps as she took tiny steps backward toward the bed. She hoped her face showed an amorous expression as Thibault’s steely eyes did not waver from her body. Two buttons undone, and her bosom was practically exposed. She opened the fabric to show skin and Thibault grunted in appreciation.

Again, Leora struggled with her revulsion as she tried to smile suggestively and undid another button. The chemise opened to her waist, revealing her breast band that did little to cover her. Finally, she had arrived at the side table. She turned around, leaning over the table and raising her backside in the air. Her dar’misu glimmered in the dim light from the window. She looked back over her shoulder at Thibault who was starting to loosen his breeches.

“Help me unlace the back?” she whispered, quietly placing her hands on the handles of her weapons.

Thibault closed the gap between them in two quick steps, his hands outstretched to maul her body. With a deft movement, she stepped to the side and kicked his legs out from under him. The Chevalier hit the ground hard with an impressive thud. In an instant, Leora was kneeling on top of him, a dar’misu in each hand. She slid one of them under his throat and the other found purchase in the soft flesh between his legs. 

Thibault lay gasping beneath her, but at least had the sense not to move. She pushed the dagger against his throat and he gasped. “Choose!” she hissed in his face.

“Wha--what?” he cried.

“Choose where I slice!” Leora said, slightly louder, pressing her weapons harder into his flesh. The Chevalier whimpered like a kicked dog. “I’ll give you the same kind of choice you gave me, ser,” she spat. “Where do I slice, your throat or your balls?”

“No, please,” he begged, tears streaming from his eyes. Pathetic, she thought. This so-called brave knight was the biggest coward she had ever seen. As tempting as it was, she had no intention of actually killing or maiming him, not that he didn’t deserve it.

By now he was openly blubbering and she hoped for the sake of the Orlesian army that it was the drunkenness making him so unstable. “You clearly had no idea who you were dealing with did you, ser Courcelle?” she asked with a contemptuous laugh. “I am a Dalish, not one of your fawning, simpering City Elves.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry!” The Chevalier’s words were barely decipherable through his sobs. As vindictively enjoyable as it was to see him reduced to crying like a little girl, Leora wanted this little rendezvous over. 

She brought her lips by his ears and whispered, “I’ll let you go… unharmed, Chevalier, which is more than you would have done for me. You see that window over there?” They both looked at the small opening that overlooked the main road. “I’d better see you riding away on that road in less than fifteen minutes. Any more than that, and I come looking for you to finish what I started.” Thibault just stared at her. She sighed. “Do you understand?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“Yes, yes! I understand!” He whispered. “Thank you. Thank you!” His sobs started up again and Leora could no longer stand to be in his presence. She climbed off of him but kept her dar’misu pointed towards him as she stepped away. He leapt up as best as he could in his condition and hitched up his breeches as he stumbled towards the door.

Leora couldn’t resist a parting shot. “Ser Courcelle!” she said loudly and he turned towards her, terror still lingering in his eyes. “The next time you try to force yourself on some weak female, think of me, and remember not all of us are helpless.”

Thibault could form no words and simply nodded and scurried out of her room. Leora was careful to bar the door securely behind him and made a promise to herself to permit no more late-night visitations.

Ten minutes later, she saw his horse galloping down the road and managed to settle in for some decent sleep.

* * *

The early morning sun streaked through her window as Leora struggled to open her eyes. She could see the grey skies and feel the mist in the air. It would be a miserable day of riding, to be sure. Leora rose slowly, gingerly massaging her throat, which was still sore from the Chevalier’s grip. As she leaned over the water basin, Leora noticed the finger-shaped bruises that adorned her neck like a gruesome tattoo. Instead of braiding her hair to keep most of it off her shoulders, Leora arranged her long locks around her neck, hoping to conceal the injury. If she revealed the encounter to the shemlen in the Keep, particular the remaining Chevaliers, she doubted they would take her side.

Moments later, Leora entered the Keep’s banquet hall, dressed in her armor and ready to leave immediately. She had hoped that she was early enough to find the hall empty, but these Orlesians seemed to be quite the early risers. Breakfast was already laid out on the bankettes and several Chevaliers were helping themselves to its contents. 

Leora stopped dead in her tracks as she recognized two of them as Ser Courcelle’s cronies. No doubt, they would wonder where he was and she was not eager for another violent confrontation. They were busying themselves with the delicacies on the table and still had not noticed her. Perhaps she could make a quick retreat and avoid them altogether. She turned quickly to leave and almost slammed into the armored chest of Cassandra, who avoided the collision by jumping back.

Cassandra recovered quicker than Leora and said, “I’ve been looking for you, Inquisitor.” Her voice betrayed no bias or disdain, already separating her from the other knights. Leora searched the woman’s light brown eyes for her intentions. Surely Cassandra was stern, maybe even off-putting, but she was not malicious. Leora sighed inwardly and decided to trust her, for now.

“Please call me Leora,” she said as politely as she knew how. “I have no idea what Inquisitor even means to you.”

“I trust you are uninterested in the particulars of ancient Chantry history.” Cassandra paused, searching for the right words. “All you need to know is that you operate outside Chantry laws, and outside the laws of Orlais or any other nation. We will recruit others to help us and, together, we will repair the Veil.” Leora looked at her hands, the sheer magnitude of her task threatening to overwhelm her. She felt tears sting her eyes as she thought Fentas and the family she would almost certainly not see again. Cassandra placed her hand on Leora’s shoulder in a gesture that was as awkward as it was comforting. “Together,” the warrior said softly, “we will save Thedas.”

Leora sighed softly and nodded, hoping her lack of emotional control wasn’t evident. She blinked back the tears and managed to make eye contact with Cassandra again. “We need to head east,” she said definitively. “I feel the Veil is weakest there.”

“Ferelden,” Cassandra replied. “Very well. Here, I brought you this,” she handed Leora some black cloth. “They didn’t have any armor that would fit you since it’s all made for humans. But you need something--some sort of visual to identify you with the Inquisition--so I… I made you this.”

Opening up the cloth, Leora saw the white insignia of a flaming eye in front of a downward-pointing sword. It was quite the message: vigilance and strength. She hoped she would be able to live up to these ideals, to do what Cassandra clearly believed she could. Examining the cloth further, Leora saw that it was actually two flags sewn together at the top with a hole in the middle. The heavy stitching was clumsy and unpracticed, but done with such care. “Thank you,” Leora murmured, feeling for the first time since the she arrived at the Keep that she was not alone.

“Here, let’s put it on you,” Cassandra said briskly, pulling the tabard over Leora’s head. Resting on her shoulders, it almost reached her knees. “Use this,” she advised in her normal, gruff voice, handing Leora a leather belt. “It put a few new holes in it, so it should fit you.” As Leora began to cinch it around her waist, Cassandra adjusted the tabard on Leora’s shoulders, trying to find the best fit. She flicked Leora’s long hair aside and froze. 

Remembering her bruises from the night before, Leora stepped away and hastily rearranged her hair to cover them again. Cassandra did not look amused. Without asking for permission or an explanation, Cassandra pulled Leora’s hair away again and looked at the bruises more carefully. Unable to watch the knight scrutinize her, Leora turned her gaze back to the banquet hall and met the eyes of the two friends of Ser Courcelle she had tried so hard to evade. They looked at her with naked fear in their eyes as they whispered to each other.

Cassandra’s eyes had followed Leora’s and she stared down the two Chevaliers so hard, they fled the room. “I wondered about Ser Courcelle’s absence this morning,” she said casually. “Apparently, he deserted the Keep last night. Such an action is disgraceful and he will surely be punished for it.” She eyed Leora’s bruises again. “Seeing how he is gone, yet you’re still here, I trust you gave him a good reason for his departure.”

Leora could not stifle a satisfied smile. “Yes,” was her sole reply.

“Hmmm,” Cassandra said with a sound that almost resembled a laugh. “Good.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we have Cullen! Finally!

Through the smoke and the ash, Cullen could see that the sun was starting to set. He wiped the grime from his face on the inside of his arm, the only part not covered with protective metal. 

It was another lull in the endless battle. How many hours had they been there, fighting the demons that poured from the sky? He took a deep breath and looked at the devastation around him. Almost half of the village was in flames, most likely from the Rage Demons that spewed it from their hands. Scattered about were the bodies of countless demons, and, he shuddered to think, some of the knights that had accompanied his party.

They were lucky enough to evacuate Rosewood village--so named for the nearby forest of soft-wooded trees that the villagers used to make furniture and cabinetry, also mostly in flames--before the rift occurred. No one would have known what the greenish tint to the sky meant had it not been for rumors from similar occurrences in Orlais. Cullen had volunteered to lead the evacuation party to Rosewood along with some other Redcliff knights and what Templars were on hand. The demons started to appear as the villagers raced to the safety of Redcliff and Cullen and the other knights squared off against the encroaching horde.

What happened next was absolute chaos… the sounds of screaming, metal hitting flesh, flesh hitting metal, and then silence. They barely had time to regroup, to assess the wounded and fallen before the crack in the sky pulsed and more demons appeared. They had been battling the hideous denizens of the Fade ever since, with only brief pauses to get their bearings before more appeared. 

Now, their numbers were dwindling as many of his men were either dead or too wounded to fight. Cullen looked down at the gashes in his thigh where a demon’s strike had managed to puncture steel. He had several burns on his shield arm, but he would live and he was certainly fit for combat. At least for another round. But how long could they continue like this? How long could he keep standing?

Cullen set his jaw and promised himself and the Maker that he would fight until he was dead, anything to give these defenseless people a chance at survival. He barely had time to complete his prayer before he heard the dreaded shrill scream from the sky. More demons. He looked to the men at his flank who also stared into the darkening sky above them with open mouths. They looked bloodied and weary from the repeated skirmishes. Cullen swallowed hard and shouted, “Knights! Stand Ready! They come again!”

Any knights who had been crouching or resting instantly sprang to action, brandishing their weapons at the sky above. In an instant the sky was filled with horrific demons that screamed and mewled as they hit the ground hard. With a cry of defiance, Cullen rushed forth targeting the nearest Rage Demon. His Templar abilities gave him more protection against its fiery spells than the average knight and his shield was certainly a bonus as well.

The demon was stunned from hitting the earth hard and Cullen used its inaction to his advantage. In a clean strike, he lopped the creature’s head off and turned quickly to dodge the energy blast of another. The attacking demon howled and lunged at him, meeting his shield in with staggering force. Cullen fell back and thrust his sword into the demon’s neck. It fell, gurgling, before him. 

He heard a cry of agony nearby and saw one of his knights fall out of the corner of his eye. This battle was going badly. Cullen was hardly surprised. Too many demons, too much exertion, the diminishing hope that they would ever triumph when the demons’ numbers kept replenishing. No, it was truly hopeless and they all knew it.

Despite his nearly overwhelming fatigue, Cullen willed himself to press on, if only to find a clean death and avoid watching his comrades fall. He quickly surveyed the field, trying to determine where he would be the most help. An enormous pride demon was finishing off a Templar mere feet away from him. Before the demon could deliver the final blow, Cullen’s sword sliced through its arm, nearly severing it. It screeched and lashed out at him with its huge claws, which he managed to escape by rolling to the side. But then the creature advanced on him, growling menacingly. Cullen struggled to get back on his feet before the demon closed the distance between him. 

Suddenly, a glowing white arc sailed through the air and hit the demon in the side. Where it hit, large bluish ice crystals formed like scales on a fish, and the demon’s arm was immobilized. Cullen let out a yelp of surprise and looked over in time to see a second blast collide with the demon’s legs, freezing it to the spot. Cullen squinted to see who his savior was and managed to spot four figures advancing into the battle.

The mage, the one who was closest, was a dark-skinned human in bizarrely ornate garments. Probably Orlesian. The other three were running in different directions. One was clearly a dwarf and the other two were too difficult to discern. Cullen took no more time to examine these new combatants, thanked the Maker and Andraste for what was clearly divine intervention, and drove his blade deep into the demon’s chest. Hot spouts of blood fell to the ground and the demon let out a choked cry. 

By that time the mage had reached him. Her poise and confidence in the face of such horrors was inspiring and indicated a high level familiarity with such things. This was no neophyte, but a seasoned, powerful mage.

“Are you hurt, ser?” she asked in a mellow Orlesian accent.

Cullen shook his head and indicated a large barn where several of the wounded knight had taken shelter. “The ones who need it most are in there. But… shouldn’t you be fighting?”

The mage smirked and amused wrinkles appeared near her dark eyes before vanishing abruptly. “My friends can more than handle this lot.” She gestured with her staff to the area before them “Observe.”

Cullen did as he was told. He couldn’t see the dwarf anymore, but the other two were making their way through the demon ranks, splitting them in half. The closer fighter was clearly a human woman and she used a sword and a shield as he did, but with more speed and power than he could muster after such a long battle. He watched her for a moment, mesmerized by the ease in which she overpowered the monsters, cutting them down with brutal efficiency.

Then his eyes found the fourth combatant… the figure was at a greater distance, but was clearly smaller--an elf, perhaps? The fighter used two smaller weapons that appeared to be curved in a way Cullen had never seen before. He was standing on top of a large Hunger Demon that he had just felled when a giant Pride Demon, the last one standing it seemed, made its way towards him. Cullen was about to yell out a warning but the fighter was a step ahead and ran--no, sprinted--towards the creature. Just as the demon began to leap upon the elf, he slid underneath it without breaking stride. Once the demon was in the air above him, the elf effortlessly raised his dagger and caught the blade in the demon’s abdomen, using its own velocity against it as the dagger ripped through it and spilled its guts on the ground. The demon was dead before the elf even stood up. Cullen cried out in relief.

The battle was over, at least for a few moments. Cullen looked around but the mage was gone, hopefully to the barn as he suggested. He tested his legs to see how steady he was and began to make his way towards the elf who had his back to him, facing the setting sun.

Suddenly, the elf ripped off his helmet, releasing cascades of long, wavy hair that spilled down her (it was clear to him now that it was a woman) back. Before he could get any closer, she knelt down next to the demon, perhaps in prayer? The dwarf approached her and handed her what looked like a crossbow bolt. Without any hesitation, the elf plunged her dagger into the demon’s chest and wrenched her arm down, creating a deep chasm in the creature’s chest. Cullen shouted in alarm as she drove her hand into the demon’s chest and pulled out what must be its heart. What kind of devilry was this? To his horror, Cullen watched her shove the heart onto the tip of the crossbow bolt and hand it back to the dwarf. What in the Maker’s name..?

The elf abruptly turned to him and met his eyes with hers that burned with an inner fire that took his breath away. “You and your men get down! Now!” she bellowed in a voice that might have been sweet and light in different circumstances… but those thoughts were for another time. Cullen nodded once and yelled, “Men, on ground!” and hoped they followed orders as he quickly lay down on his belly. The elf turned away from him and the dwarf shot his crossbow with the heart-laden bolt directly into the tear. Cullen watched it arc into the sky and held his breath, waiting to see what those two had in mind with this strange practice.

He did not have to wait long as an invisible blast of energy flattened anyone or anything that was not already low to the ground. A moment later, Cullen rose, shaking his head to stop the ringing in his ears. He wrenched his head up to the sky and saw that the tear was somehow gone. Even the green tint was fading away, as though there had never been anything there but cheerful white clouds. It was incredible and Cullen felt his heart leap with gratitude to this unlikely band that had completely saved his life and those of his comrades. 

The elf with the daggers was still crouched on the ground and Cullen rushed towards her, ignoring everything else around him. Before he could offer his hand, she was on her feet and in the waning evening light he was able to see her clearly. She was tall, for a female elf, and her armor was not steel like his, but some kind of hardened wood. Her auburn hair cascaded around her slim shoulders and danced in the evening breeze. Then she looked him in the face and he was transfixed by her eyes that sparkled like the sea on a summer day. Her tan skin was dappled with freckles and along her cheeks, snaking up to her forehead, were reddish tattoos in patterns he did not recognize. Maker, he thought, a Dalish of all things…

Cullen then came to the unfortunate realization that he was staring at her. He cleared his throat nervously and placed his arms across his chest, bowing deeply. Then he quickly spied the insignia on her crudely belted tabard, which he had somehow missed before: a sword stabbing through a flaming eye. “The Inquisition,” he whispered, awestruck. So, the rumors were true. The elf still said nothing and merely looked at him expectantly. Cullen tried his best to recover. “My heartiest thanks,” he said, perhaps too loudly. “My men and I owe you our lives. If you had not come…”

She smiled slightly at him and he felt his powers of speech disappear. “We are happy to help,” she said, and then her full, reddish lips angled into a frown as her eyes started to rove over the battlefield, taking in the losses. “I only wish we could have been here sooner, ser…?” Her voice trailed off at the end and Cullen realized she was looking for his name.

He coughed slightly and found his voice again. “Ser Cullen, Inquisitor,” he began, but before he could offer her more thanks, another voice--this one oddly familiar--met his ear from behind his shoulder.

“Ser Cullen,” the baritone voice smarmed. “Ser, is it?” Where had he heard that voice before? Cullen looked behind and saw the dwarf had approached him. The dwarf was… Oh, Maker… “Don’t let his modesty fool you, Inquisitor,” the dwarf--Varric--continued. “This is no other than the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall.” Varric stepped out and offered his hand to Cullen who could find no other option but to shake it. “You’ve come a long way from the Gallows, eh, Knight Captain?” His presumptuous smile was infuriating. 

“As have you, Messere Tethras,” Cullen retorted. “And it looks like I find you again in the finest of company,” he said, making his voice more even.

Varric nodded, evidently pleased. “It’s nice to be remembered, Knight-Captain, even if when we last saw each other, it was not in the best circumstances.” He turned to the elven Inquisitor. “This man helped us defeat the Knight-Commander in Kirkwall...turned against his own superior officer to do what was right.” Varric looked him back in the eye. “Can’t say I’ve seen too many people do that.”

Cullen blushed slightly at the unexpected praise and when he caught the Inquisitor’s fascinated expression directed at him, his flush deepened. He tried to say something modest, but found himself starting to stammer instead, a ridiculous habit he thought he had abandoned after the massacre at Kinloch Hold. 

The mage from earlier and the female warrior approached and spared him the further indignity of trying to speak. “Pardon me, Ser Knight,” the mage said in her deep, soothing voice. “I noticed you had an injury on your leg earlier and I’d like to treat it, if I may.”

Cullen sighed slightly and said, “It really isn’t serious, I--” but his protests were cut short by the mage conjuring a white ball of light. Clearly, her request for permission was merely a formality. She gently touched his wound and the warm energy flowed through him like a soft breath. The dull throb on his leg vanished nearly instantly. He bowed his head toward her in thanks and she gave him a sly wink.

At this point the female warrior, clad in armor that would have made any male knight apprehensive, spoke up. “We’ve tended to the other knights that we could save. It’s best to go back to Redcliff Castle and speak to the Arl.” Who was really in charge here, Cullen wondered at the warrior’s authoritative tone. He took a closer look at the insignia on her armor. There was the clear mark of the Inquisition, which looked newly engraved. Below it, more tarnished and older, was the insignia of a Seeker. Along with the mage and the dwarf who, as far as he could tell, had no real allegiance to any faction, this was an interesting group.

“Agreed,” the Inquisitor said, with a faraway look in her eye. As a Dalish recruited by the Divine for this world-saving mission, she was clearly the most unexpected member. Cullen had to admit to himself that he was fascinated by her, for more reasons that he could admit to himself. If they were meeting in Redcliff, perhaps he would be able to tease out some of these secrets, to untie some of the knots forming in his stomach.

But first, he must attend to his men. As he walked back to the barn, he saw the four of them head in a different direction, most likely to the horses that brought them to Rosewood. 

Moments later, Cullen and his fellows began walking back to Redcliff as the sun dipped below the horizon behind them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for an official meet-cute with Cullen, who joins our little party...

Leora and her companions reached Redcliffe Castle in less than an hour. They had bypassed the castle on their way to the village, but knew that the arl would be well aware of what had occurred and would expect to see them. At any rate, a decent meal and a long rest was all Leora could contemplate after that battle.

When they reached the gates, the arl, a man approaching middle age, waited for them. He was tall and sturdy, with none of the unattractive features that tended to accompany the shemlen’s aging process. He wore simpler clothes than she was used to seeing on nobility and conducted himself with more humility and kindness that she anticpated. Truly, it was hard not to like Arl Teagan. As her party approached the gates, Arl Teagan welcomed them into his home as though they were long-lost relatives. He even threw his arm around Cassandra’s shoulders, oblivious to her uncomfortable glare. 

Leora was immediately tense once as they crossed the threshold into the castle. She had never liked all of the stonework the shemlen seemed to fixate on, as if they needed to impose themselves on the landscape to convince themselves that their structures would never fall. Surely, it was better to work within the confines of nature, to bend to it instead of smashing it with cement and brick.

But, more to the point, the last time she was in a structure like this, she did not exactly receive a warm welcome. Still, Arl Teagan’s effusiveness with his thanks and praise was enough to soften her stance. A little.

An older woman with white hair in a tight bun approached them. She was dressed in the thick, ill-fitting garments Leora knew to be related to the Chantry. The woman introduced herself as the Mother Superior of Redcliffe and asked to lead them all in a prayer. Leora knew enough from her sparse interactions with the Chantry that arguing would be useless.

After a brief mumbling of words, the Mother Superior addressed Cassandra and asked, “Whom can we thank the Maker for our deliverance? I cannot know how you came to be here when you did, but if you had not, Rosewood, and then Redcliffe itself would surely have been destroyed.”

“We are the Inquisition,” Cassandra said almost tersely. Apparently, she had no patience even for her own faction.

“Yes, of course,” Arl Teagan interjected. “But who sent you to our aid?”

Cassandra glanced at Leora uncomfortably, but Leora was perfectly happy to allow the Seeker to take some of the limelight from her. “The Divine assembled us,” Cassandra replied.

“Then the Maker told her to come to us! How inspiring!” The Mother Superior clasped her hands and looked skyward in an abject gesture of thanks.

Varric cleared his throat and Leora sighed inwardly. She wondered how it took so long for the dwarf to speak up. “Actually, it was our leader here,” he said, giving Leora a little shove into the center. “This Dalish woman knew to come here because of her magic.” Leora looked straight ahead but wanted to glare at the dwarf who just couldn’t resist stirring up trouble.

The Mother Superior was stunned into silence, but Arl Teagan managed to step forward and address Leora directly. “We thank you, lady Inquisitor.” Leora’s smile came unforced. This was perhaps the first shemlen--human--that they had run into who did not feel her heritage needed discussion to make himself more comfortable in her presence. “Can you tell us what caused the demons to come?”

“I cannot. I am sorry,” she responded, and truly meant it. Teagan looked troubled, so she continued, “I can tell you that whatever caused the breach near your village has been sealed completely and will not reopen.” Leora inwardly hoped that what she said was entirely true. Nonetheless, Teagan looked infinitely pleased.

Teagan bowed slightly to her, his deep red hair falling around his ears. “I have always heard rumors about the powers and might of the Inquisition. Truly, those were understated.” Leora found herself smiling again.

Vivienne, the statuesque mage Justinia had sent to them shortly after they left Montsimmard, took the opportunity to speak up. “We thank you for your kind words, Arl Teagan,” she said with her usual bored expression. Vivienne had a habit of making her listener feel as though he should be grateful for any of her time. “But there is still so much danger out there, other tears in the Veil we must close. Our task is difficult and our journey will be long. Such we do for the good of all Thedas.”

Teagan looked appropriately impressed. “Anything I can do to assist, anything…” he began. Vivienne curtseyed with a humility Leora knew to be false. It was a little game she played to turn the abstract offers of help they received into something more concrete. It had worked already on town mayors, tavern keepers, even stable masters. When was the last time they had actually paid for anything? Teagan was considering things, glancing around the room to look for something he could offer them. “Please know,” he said at last, “that while it is needed, my Castle and all within it are at your disposal. Surely, none of us would be here if not for your timely intervention.”

Both Vivienne and Cassandra smiled and took their leave to take inventory of what the arl offered them. Varric slipped away as well and Leora could not find a way to extricate herself so gracefully. Luckily, Teagan had no interest in a long conversation and simply directed her to a room for her to freshen up for dinner that was already being prepared. Leora thanked him quietly and hurried away.

* * *

A short time later, Leora found herself alone in the castle’s main hall that was being set up for a large meal. Scattered throughout the room were various townsfolk that had been evacuated from Rosewood during the demon attack. Bedding had already been laid down for them in the adjoining rooms, ostensibly under the belief that they would be in the castle for the foreseeable future. With the rift closed, that was no longer necessary for some of them, but Leora wondered if they knew how much of the village had been burnt to cinders. There would be no way to assess the damage to Rosewood in the dark of night, so allowing the villagers to sleep relatively comfortably in the castle was the compassionate thing to do.

 

The smell of cooking food was irresistible to her after the long journey and intense combat. Leora approached the banquet table where cooks were setting out plates. Apparently she was early to the meal, but her stomach would not be quieted. Her party members were nowhere to be seen. No doubt, Cassandra was studying maps, Varric was helping himself to the castle’s wine cellar, and Vivienne was preening. It would be some time before they would join her, but she was used to eating alone.

Two elven cooks carried out a huge cauldron and were joined by a short, portly woman with a ladle. The woman gestured the two elves away and began filling ceramic bowls with the contents of the cauldron. When she caught the woman’s attention, the cook simply handed her a bowl with a heavy wooden spoon and a piece of brown bread floating in it. Inside the bowl was a dense brown slop that smelled vaguely of meat. Before she could protest, the woman vanished back into the kitchen and Leora could hear her screeching at the elves to get more spoons. Leora looked down at her traveling clothes and realized the woman thought she was one of the refugees trying to sneak food before dinner was formally announced. 

Her stomach getting the better of her indignation, Leora sat down at an empty table and tried to posit a way to keep down the foul stew. At least the bread was edible, if stale, and Leora found she could use it to sop up some of the liquid, which was nearly tasteless.

As Leora was immersed in grousing over her meal, a voice floated to her ear, “I’m surprised you can eat that stuff.” Leora started and looked over her shoulder to see Ser Cullen walking around the table with a bowl of his own and a basket covered in a cloth. Only his voice identified him as he had worn a steel helmet that had obscured his face when they first met. He was fair-haired and his broad-shoulders and heavily-muscled arms and chest were obvious in his simple tunic. He had an easy smile, but something in his soulful hazel eyes hinted at a deeper pensiveness. Cullen stood at the other side of the table and indicated the seat in front of her. “May I join you?” he asked with a formality that flattered and embarrassed her. 

Leora nodded in assent and Cullen sat opposite of her and set his bowl in front of him. “I never introduced myself properly. My name is Ser Cullen Lockhart,” he said with a quick bow of his head. 

Leora felt a smile creeping over her lips. “You did say your name,” she contradicted. “But I didn’t and somehow there wasn’t enough gossip about me to provide mine. My name is Leora Lavellan.”

“A pleasure,” he replied genuinely. They stared at each other for a moment, both at a loss for words until Leora dropped her spoon on the table with a clank. 

“Seriously, don’t eat that” Cullen warned. “There will be more food--edible food--for you and your party later.”

“I see you’re eating it,” she observed. 

Cullen laughed lightly. “I suppose I’m used to it, but that’s no reason you should settle. I understand you’re from Orlais. I’m sure our coarse Ferelden food is a bit of a shock to you.”

“I’m from the Dales,” Leora corrected. “We don’t eat those twee Orlesian monstrosities.” 

“I was watching you try to eat it,” Cullen said. “Er, I mean… I was here when you sat down… and I could tell this kind of food wouldn’t be enjoyable for you, well, for anyone, really, um…” he stammered. His evident frustration with his inability to speak well indicated that it was unusual to have so much trouble. She wondered what about her made him so nervous when most shemlen simply disregarded elves out of hand.

“Anyway,” he recovered. “I brought you these.” Cullen lifted the cloth napkin off the basket to reveal a small pile of tiny pastries. “They’re called mince pies--a specialty of Miriam, our cook.” He pushed the basket towards her. “Trust me, they’re delicious.”

Thrilled at having an option to the brown concoction in front of her, Leora took a pie from the basket. It was still warm and the delectable smell of meat and spices wafted up. She looked back at Cullen gratefully and watched him take one and pop the entire thing in his mouth. He nodded at her encouragingly and she did the same.

Her teeth broke through the light, flaky crust and the flavor of the pie filling--salty stewed meat along with sweet cinnamon and other spices--filled her mouth. It was perhaps the best thing she’d ever eaten and she tried not to grin too broadly.

“Good, right?” Cullen asked, obviously relishing her pleasure.

“You may have just saved me from starvation,” she sighed, reaching for another pie.

“I’m so glad,” he replied. “You saved me from so much more, so I’m delighted to return the favor.”

“Well, I’d say this makes us even,” Leora said with mock seriousness and they shared a laugh. In that moment, for the first time since she left the dales, Leora found she was actually enjoying herself in the company of this human knight.

A few moments of silence passed between them as they polished off the contents of the basket. When the silence started to turn awkward, Cullen spoke up: “I can’t help but notice the tattoos on your face. They’re… quite beautiful,” he said then blushed immediately.

“My vallaslin,” Leora said, smiling into her hands. “They are more than just decoration.”

“Tell me more,” he implored, leaning forward so she could see the gold flecks in his amber eyes. Leora would normally shrug off such inquiries from humans who usually saw her as some kind of exotic creature, like a fancy bird. But, for some reason, she found herself wanting to share with this admittedly handsome human. It was probably the pies.

“Vallaslin means ‘blood writing’ in your language,” Leora began. “When we Dalish come of age, we choose one of our gods as a patron and devote ourselves to him or her.” She traced her finger down the side of her face, following the loops and circles that she knew from memory. “These particular markings are for Mythal, the mood goddess who provides protection.”

“When you come of age?” Cullen remarked, his brow furrowed. “Does this process involve some sort of life event, like… for instance… marriage?”

Leora chuckled. The man was obviously fishing again. Though why the captain of an arl’s knights would take such an interest in her was a mystery. “No, nothing like that,” she said. “We usually go through the ritual around age eighteen.” Cullen had that concerned look on his face. “I’m not married,” she reassured him.

“Well, that’s good,” he said a bit too loudly. “What I mean is, I’d hate to be offering food to another man’s wife.”

Leora smiled, unconvinced, and another moment of silence passed between them. She wished she were better at these conversations but she had always tended toward reticence. Cullen went back to eating his stew, most likely waiting for her to indicate her interest in speaking with him by prolonging the conversation. If she couldn’t think of anything to say, though, the knight would assuredly find someone else to pass the time with, which she had to admit to herself she did not want. “I haven’t met many knights,” she managed, already feeling terribly clumsy. “But you seem very different from the Chevaliers in Orlais.”

“How so?” Cullen asked, evidently unsure if she was complimenting or insulting him.

“They seem to think that the world exists to serve them,” she said, not trying to hide her bitterness. “Especially elves.”

“Sounds like you don’t like knights very much,” Cullen replied, his expression darker and unreadable as he brought a spoonful of stew to his lips.

“I came by my dislike fairly,” she responded. Cullen cocked his head at her, waiting for more information. She vacillated for a moment between changing the subject and just telling him the truth. As usual, the truth won out and she expressed it in the most brutal way possible because she could see no other way. “The last time I had a conversation with a knight in a castle, he tried to rape me.”

Cullen coughed hard and covered his mouth to keep brown liquid from spraying everywhere. “Did you just say--?” he blurted then caught the gravity in her expression. “Maker, you’re serious aren’t you?”

Leora nodded, unwilling to say more. Cullen was clearly appalled by what she had said, and that reaction spoke volumes about him.

“I--I can see why you’d take a dim view of humans, and knights in particular,” he stammered. “Please accept my sincerest apology on behalf of all knights… we… most of us would never…” he trailed off, his face stricken, and Leora felt entirely guilty for upsetting him unnecessarily.

“Thank you, Ser Cullen,” she said, attempting to comfort him. “I will have a more open mind, thanks to you.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said softly, his pleasant expression returning. “And… that knight who attacked you… I hope you sent him running with his tail between his legs.”

Leora couldn’t help but laugh at the mischievous glint in Cullen’s eye. “He was lucky he got to keep it,” she replied and he laughed warmly along with her.

Their mirth was interrupted as fingers with nails like talons encircled Leora’s shoulders. “Excuse me for a moment, Ser Cullen,” Vivienne’s silky voice said over Leora’s shoulder. “I must borrow the Inquisitor for now.” With that she hoisted Leora to her feet and practically pulled her over the bench she was sitting on.

“Of course, um…” Cullen said, searching for the enigmatic mage’s name.

“First Enchanter Vivienne,” the mage replied and turned Leora away from the table. “First rule of flirting, darling” Vivienne said as she walked Leora out of Cullen’s earshot. “Always leave them wanting more.” Leora was about to protest, but Vivienne continued, “Now look over your shoulder at him,” Leora did as she was told and met Cullen’s eyes again. What was it about the mage’s voice that was so authoritarian that Leora automatically did as she did as though she were a schoolchild bending to the headmaster’s will?

“Is he looking at you?” Vivienne asked.

“Yes,” Leora said, surprised.

“Excellent,” Vivienne congratulated. “Now smile at the poor boy.” Leora did so easily and Cullen’s expression brightened as he smiled back. “Now look straight ahead,” Vivienne said gruffly and Leora snapped her head back.”Well done, my dear, we’ll make a coquette out of you yet.”

Vivienne released Leora’s shoulders as they reached Varric and Cassandra who were wrapping up some sort of argument, as usual. “Here she is,” Vivienne said to the other two. “I had to pry her from that attractive, blond knight.”

Leora wanted to disappear into the floor as her cheeks began to radiate heat.

“What, the Knight Captain?” Varric asked with greedy eyes. “You have good taste, Inquisitor.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and cut in and Leora had never been so grateful for the Seeker’s intolerance for banter. “We have no time for this,” she said, gesturing towards a large map of Thedas she had laid out on the table. “Where do we head next, Inquisitor?”

Leora closed her eyes and tried to still the racing thoughts in her mind. The Beyond was there, all around them, with its endless hum that she managed to tune out in her waking hours. The soft sound ebbed and flowed around her like waves on the sea. She looked at the map, trying to decipher where the Beyond was wounded, where its song was one of pain instead of peace. Unfortunately, it did not take long to determine where they must go. She placed her finger on a placed called “Highever” and said, “Here. And we don’t have much time.”

“We never do,” Cassandra replied grimly and began to lead Leora and the others to a meeting room where they would discuss logistics and other tedious, practical matters. Before she went through the doorway, Leora glanced back to the meeting stall and saw an empty seat where Cullen once sat.

After several hours of planning the expedition to Highever, punctuated by squabbling between Varric and Cassandra, the group broke up and Leora was told to go to bed. “Sometimes I tell myself that I’m actually in charge,” she muttered to herself as she walked down the darkened hallway. For some reason, her room was down a different corridor than her companions’ and the usual sense of loneliness pervaded as she made her way, alone, to her room. Leora’s thoughts meandered to her family and clan, as they usually did when not given a direction. She tried to force herself to think of something else before her emotions got the better of her, but her brother’s parting words would not leave her mind.

As she approached the door to her room, Leora noticed some sort of cloth-wrapped parcel sitting in front of it. Curiosity drove away any prudent thoughts of safety as she unwrapped it to reveal a basket. Immediately, the scent of familiar spices struck her. “Cullen,” she whispered, almost hoping he was nearby. But, no, she was alone in the hall. At least she had a snack. Leora popped a pie in her mouth and took the basket inside her room, content for the first time in weeks.

The next morning, after a rude awakening by Cassandra’s pounding on the door, Leora made her way back to the meeting room where a hasty, cold breakfast was laid out for them. A couple hours later, they met in the entryway, packed, fed, and ready to mount new horses. “Inquisitor!” she heard a voice bellow. They all turned to see Cullen making his way toward them as quickly as he could in his heavy armor. “Inquisitor,” he panted as he approached them. “I’m glad I caught you.”

“Is everything alright, Ser Cullen?” Leora asked, reverting back to his title as he did with her. “Did something happen?”

“No, nothing like that,” he replied, sinking to one knee. He placed his left arm across his chest and took her hand in his other, his head bowed in fealty. “I wish to dedicate myself to your service, Inquisitor. I will fight to protect Thedas and lay down my life to protect you.”

Leora was stunned beyond words. Her mind was a tumult of emotions: confusion, excitement, anxiety all warred with each other. Her lack of response made Cullen look up at her, his eyes betraying a kind of panic. “I already spoke to Arl Teagan and he gave me his blessing,” he said as if Leora was at all preoccupied with offending the arl by poaching one of his knights.

“Let me speak for the Inquisitor and say we are delighted to have you,” Vivienne rejoined. Leora nodded enthusiastically. “After all, what girl wouldn’t want a knight in shining armor, yes?” she asked, looking pointedly at Leora, who had abruptly stopped nodding.

“She is hardly a damsel in distress,” Cullen retorted amiably, giving Leora a broad smile. He released her hand and stood. “I am ready to travel immediately.”

“Then let’s go already,” Cassandra grumped and turned towards the stables.

As the group followed her, Leora whispered to Cullen, “I’m glad you’re coming with us, Cullen.”

“As am I, Leora,” he whispered back. “This is where I’m meant to be.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens....

It was an uneventful day of traveling that followed. Leora pressed them to continue with as few breaks as possible. With each hour that passed, she could feel the barrier to the Beyond slowly weakening at their destination. Preoccupied about the dangers they would soon face kept her from engaging her companions, even Cullen, in dialogue and none of them sought to draw her out. Finally, as the sun slipped below the horizon, they arrived at a village called Tallowen.

Apparently, Tallowen sprung up along the main road as a destination for travelers and charming inns and shops dotted its landscape. It took very little for Varric to convince the others to stay the night in one of the inns instead of camping outside of town. Leora was clearly the only one who preferred camping outside to the noisy, smoky, overly-warm taverns they sometimes occupied. In no mood to argue, she relented.

As they approached the Needle and Haystack Tavern, several shouts were heard. Everyone suddenly tensed up and reached for weapons until a stout, strong woman--clearly the innkeeper--came out with her hands spread wide. “It’s them!” she shouted. “The saviors of Rosewood!”

“Our reputation precedes us,” Varric said slyly, clearly envisioning the many free drinks he would receive.

Stablehands came out of nowhere and helped them off their mounts, assuring them that their horses would be well cared for. The innkeeper clasped the hands of each of them, stopping to kiss Leora’s with such reverence that Leora began to stammer that such displays were not necessary.

“Inquisitor!” the innkeeper cried, with tears streaming from her eyes. “We received news of Rosewood this afternoon. My dear sister and her family live there and would have surely perished if not for your intervention. Please, come and join us tonight as my guest.”

Leora mumbled thanks and the group followed the innkeeper to the tavern. When they walked through the tavern doors, the celebration was already in full swing. Raucous, clearly-drunken laughter assaulted their ears as soon as the door swung open. They were immediately greeted with shouts of gratitude and admiration and the enthusiastic villagers rushed towards them. Leora suddenly found herself being dragged towards a table in the back with a wooden goblet thrust in her hand. She looked over her shoulder to see her comrades being pulled in similar directions.

After a hearty (and heavy) meal and several rounds of wine, Leora and her comrades found themselves sitting at a table together, each with a cheerful, warm glow on their faces. Even Cassandra laughed and joked along as Varric spun out one of his tall tales. Leora wondered whether she’d grown fond of them, or if the drink was finally getting to her.

“This story cannot be finished outside of the presence of our famous Knight-Captain,” Varric said. “Where is he, anyway?”

Leora suddenly realized that Cullen had been gone for a time. He had promised to get another round of drinks but did not return. 

“Perhaps one of the barmaids caught his eye and delayed him,” Vivienne suggested and she, Varric, and Cassandra erupted into peals of laughter.

Leora’s mood instantly soured, being on the outside of an inside joke. “Why is that funny?” she asked, irritated. Surely, Cullen could easily attract the eye of any woman, barmaid or no.

Varric managed to cut off his laughter and said, “So sorry, Inquisitor. You Dalish aren’t really accustomed to the quirks of human society, are you?” Leora glared impatiently. “You see, Cullen used to be a Templar, and that means he was cut off from female society… if you catch my meaning…”

“Cut off…?” Leora queried, curious.

“Completely,” Varric said emphatically. “Not that Templars haven’t had their dalliances in the past. They had an open tab at the Blooming Rose, the brothel in Kirkwall.” Leora blinked hard at the word “brothel,” knowing its meaning but hardly believing that such a thing could exist. “Of course, our Knight-Captain was always the dutiful sort. I can’t see him patronizing the Rose any more than I can see him carrying on a secret relationship against orders.”

“Are you saying…?” Leora asked, suddenly intensely curious. Varric gave a slow nod. “A man like him…? At his age…? Still…?” Varric gave a slower nod.

“Go ask him if you’re curious,” Cassandra piped up. She was clearly the drunkest out of the group. “He’s sitting at the bar right now,” she nearly shouted with a dismissive wave of her arm.

Leora looked over and indeed he was at the bar. Cullen sat on a stool with his back to them, his hands clasped together as though he were deep in thought. What made him sequester himself from the group? Had someone offended him or did he just prefer to be alone? Leora found herself standing and walking towards him as though compelled by an outside force.

“Let us know what you find out!” Varric shouted behind her and his voice was accompanied by more (mostly) good-natured laughter.

Wordlessly, Leora sat down on the stool next to Cullen. He looked over at her as though he were expecting her. “Is the service that slow?” she asked.

“No,” he said with a chuckle. “But I’m the new member of a traveling group.” He glanced over at the other three who scrambled to pretend they were looking at anything other than him. “I thought I’d give all of you a chance to discuss me without interference.”

“We weren’t talking about you the entire time,” Leora said with an unexpected giggle in her voice.

“How reassuring,” Cullen replied, handing her a fresh goblet of wine. “I’m sure Varric had plenty to say about me.”

“Not so much about you, but he did tell me something intriguing about the Templars in general,” she said, then immediately wished she had kept quiet.

“Really?” Cullen said, looking her full in the face. “And what could that be?”

Normally, Leora would have changed the subject, or simply retreated back to her table in defeat, but something emboldened her to answer his question. Perhaps it was the many cups of wine, or his open expression as he waited to hear her response. Either way, she said, “He told me that Templars rarely marry and do not usually… um… consort with women.”

“Did he?” Cullen asked thoughtfully.

“He mentioned you, in particular, were less likely to have had the occasion.”

“Occasion to do what?” he queried, obviously goading her.

“To be naked with a woman,” Leora said, unable to keep an impish smile from her lips.

“Hah!” Cullen chuckled. “Sounds like the kind of thing he’d wonder about.”

“Is it true, then?” she persisted. Cullen looked suddenly surprised, as if he hadn’t expected her to pursue the question further.

“About Templars in general, or me in particular?” he asked.

“I care little about Templar rules,” she replied loftily, raising her nose in the air. “I’m curious about you.”

Cullen chuckled again, this time more nervously than amusedly. “I expected this topic would come up at some point,” he said softly. “I just didn’t expect it to come up so soon.”

Some strange emotions played out on his face, and Leora could see he was uncomfortable discussing it. The most obvious course would be to apologize, let him off the hook, retreat. She had half a mind to do so, but then her thoughts changed course. She realized she liked it when Cullen was uncomfortable. He seemed realer, less guarded, someone she could truly get to know. And the more she spoke with Ser Cullen, the more she wanted to get to know him. 

“It’s only fair that you answer the question,” she said with an affected air of haughtiness. “After all, you already asked it of me.”

“Did I?” Cullen asked, genuinely surprised.

“You asked me if I was married,” she replied.

“Yes, but not being married does not preclude--” he began in a blustery tone.

Leora held up a hand to silence him. “To the Dalish, it does.” Cullen looked at her both shocked and sheepish. “We may have some stolen moments of passion, but those are tame compared to what we save for marriage. The Dalish take marriage very seriously, and all of the… acts it entails.”

Cullen was still recovering from what he now saw as an impertinent gaffe. “Leora, truly, I apologize. I never meant--”

“Had I not wanted to answer the question, I would have said so.” Cullen sat silent for a moment, ruminating on what had been exchanged between them. “And you’re not getting out of this so easily, Cullen.” She leveled her gaze with his and asked, “Have you ever lain with a woman?”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

Leora’s mind flooded with questions, but she could see Cullen was in no mood to elaborate. Still, her curiosity burned inside her like a bonfire. “Yes? That’s all you have to say?”

Cullen smiled shyly. “Perhaps I’ll tell you more someday,” he looked at her and she was pleased to see incredible warmth in his eyes. Something flowed between them that she could not put a name to, but it made her blood run faster and her mouth grow dry. “Perhaps someday soon, when I’ve had more of this,” he continued shaking his empty tankard. 

Leora found her words would not come. Instead she nodded slightly and stood to rejoin her table. Turning around, she saw it was empty. The night was growing old and no doubt Cassandra, that infernal early riser, would be rousing her in a few hours. The thought made her yawn sleepily. A young elven barmaid suddenly appeared at her elbow and said, “Messere would like to go to her room now, yes?”

Leora thanked her and yawned again, half-drunken, half-sleepy. Cullen nodded to her politely and turned back to his cup. As the elf led her out of the room, Leora found that there were still several eyes on her, no doubt awed by the Inquisitor and her accomplishments, she thought with some irony. A few weeks ago, she would have been run out of the place as a vagrant elf. But now they looked at her as a savior. She had to admit she liked the change.

The elf unlocked a room at the end of the hall and showed her in. “This room is quietest, lots of privacy,” the barmaid said anxiously. “I hope you like it, Serrah.” 

Leora took a few steps in and surveyed the room. It was dark as no candle had been lit, and the only light source came in through the open window from a lantern outside. It was somewhat shabby, but clean, with fresh linens draped over the side of the bed. Her pack and belongings were already laid out on a small dresser near the window. Leora turned to ask the barmaid to help her with some light, but she only saw a closing door and heard the click of a key in the lock.

Instinctively, she reached for her dar’misu, but was too late as a strong arm wrapped itself around her waist and a huge hand clamped down on her mouth. She struggled for a moment, until she felt a cold, sharp blade under her chin.

“Keep still, Inquisitor,” a low voice hissed in her ear. “Or my mate’ll have paint you all red.” The accent was clearly Ferelden, and human. She glanced over to see the man with the sword at her throat was hooded and in nearly all black clothes. The hand over her mouth was in a heavy leather glove, and peeking out at the wrist, she could barely make out a tattoo of something that looked like a beetle.

The man holding her hoisted her easily off the ground and lunged with her toward the window. She could see a horse and cart outside and tied to an awning was a rope that was long enough to touch the ground. “Your chariot awaits, Inquisitor,” the man said roughly into her ear.

Leora wrenched her face out of the man’s grasp and spat, “Ma halam, shemlen. Take your hands off me!”

“I told you she wouldn’t go easy,” the tattooed man said to the shorter man with the sword. “Listen, flat ear,” he growled, his rough face pressed against her cheek. “You don’t seem to have a good grasp of the situation. You’re going with us. The only thing you get to decide is whether you’re going to be conscious or not.”

Leora was about to take her chances with a swift kick to the knee when she heard footsteps in the doorway. More of these shemlen set to kidnap her? But then she saw the look of surprise the man with the sword exchanged with the one who held her. 

The door swung open and Cullen stepped through, his sword drawn. The tattooed man tightened his grip on Leora and quickly drew a dagger and pointed it at the side of her neck. “Not one step, serrah,” the tattooed man growled. Cullen’s eyes moved back and forth between the two armed men, then rested on Leora where they filled with both concern and anger.

“Listen here, sonny,” the tattooed man continued. “Let us walk out of here with her quietly and neither of you has to get hurt.”

Cullen laughed mirthlessly. “Are you truly so thick as to think I’d negotiate with you? Release her, now. She’s not some random elf for you and your slavers to ship off somewhere.”

“Aye, my friend,” the tattooed man replied. “We know exactly who she is.”

Cullen’s eyes flashed in rage and he took a step forward, brandishing his sword. “Then you know that, under no circumstances, will I let you leave with her.” Cullen’s empty hand started to glow light blue as a fiery energy enveloped his hand. “Let... her... go,” he said deliberately, drawing out each syllable. “Or I’ll do worse than kill you.”

Before she knew what was happening, Leora found herself thrown to the ground. Apparently, Cullen’s threat was enough to send them running. She looked up in time to see both of the men deftly jump through the window. In the next instant, Cullen was kneeling by her side, placing his hand on her back. “Leora, did they hurt you?” he asked in a shaky voice.

“No, they… you got here too quickly for that.” Cullen swiftly helped her to her feet. She steadied herself on his arm, still feeling uneasy about her near-kidnapping. “How--how did you get here so quickly?”

Cullen supported her with his arm, and walked her over to the bed. “Something didn’t sit right with me when you left. A man watched you go and then rushed outside. I heard horses. Who would travel at this hour for any legitimate purpose? It was a hunch, but I had to be sure you were safe.”

“Apparently, I wasn’t,” Leora said, sinking down to the edge of the bed. “I--” she stumbled over words that seemed insufficient to express her gratitude. “Ma serannas,” she managed quietly.

Cullen was about to reply when loud voices startled them both. Cassandra burst into the room, followed by Varric and Vivienne, both in their nightclothes. “Inquisitor!,” Cassandra said sharply. “I heard a commotion…”

“And saw fit to wake us both,” Varric added. The smile died on his face when he saw how shaken Leora and Cullen were. “Something did happen, didn’t it?”

“Two men attacked me,” Leora replied, unable to look up from the floor. “Cullen scared them off.”

“You didn’t follow?” Cassandra asked.

“They were swift and had an escape ready,” Cullen replied, somewhat defensively. “My attention was focused on the Inquisitor and her possible injuries.”

“Was it some sort of robbery?” Vivienne asked, sounding bored already.

“No,” Leora replied, shaking her head. “They targeted me, knew who I was...”

“They were going to take her Maker knows where,” Cullen finished. 

Varric and Vivienne exchanged panicked looks, but Cassandra seemed unruffled. “It is as I suspected all along,” she said nonchalantly.

“You expected a kidnapping attempt?” Cullen asked sharply.

“No, not that. I have thought from the beginning that these tears in the Veil are not natural, that there is someone--or many someones--who have created them and seek to continue the breach.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Vivienne wondered aloud. “What could the purpose possibly be?”

“That, I do not know either,” Cassandra responded. “What I do know is that the word is out about the Inquisitor and her abilities. That means whoever wants the Veil torn will want to stop her.”

Leora felt stricken. Fighting demons was one thing--those she could see. But this was a new danger, lurking in the shadows to kill or steal her. This danger she could not prepare for, because it was subtle and its aims unknown. How long could she keep this up? Between the demons and the kidnappers, her days were surely numbered. “What do I do now?” she asked, mostly to herself.

“You stay with us,” Cassandra said definitively. “We will keep you safe. The Inquisitor is not to be alone, ever.” The others nodded and Leora thought about how miserable that sounded. “You will need a bedfellow when we stay at inns. I will fill that role,” she announced with a pointed glare at Cullen. “Now all of you get some rest. We have another long day of travel.”

The other three shuffled out of the room, speaking to each other in low voices. Cullen managed a backward glance, but his pained expression did little to bolster Leora’s confidence. Kidnapped or not, she was indeed a prisoner of this arduous, never-ending task.


	8. Chapter 8

The next few days were a blur of relentless travel as Leora pushed her companions as hard as she could towards Highever, feeling with each hour how weak the Veil was becoming. After her near abduction at Tallowen, she noticed that one of her party members kept her within visual range at all times. Usually, it was Cassandra and her dark, sullen expressions.

As the sun reached its zenith on the hazy morning of the fourth day, they crested a hill and saw Highever and the glittering sea. As a denizen of the forest, she had never come far enough away from the woods to arrive at the ocean. Lake Calenhad had seemed massive, but it was a pail of water compared to the expansive, endless swath of blue that stretched to the very horizon. Despite her sense of urgency, she could not help but pause and stare in awe.

Cassandra cleared her throat and brought Leora out of her reverie. “Inquisitor? How much time do we have?”

“Not much,” Leora replied with a frown. “Hours, if we’re lucky.”

“Then let us find the teryn and marshal his forces.”

Leora clenched her jaw and tried to settle her stomach against the gnawing pain she felt inside. Indeed, the Veil was near breaking here, but she could not shake the creeping sensation that somehow it was worse here than it ever was before. She took a deep breath to try to steady her racing heart, nodded to her companions, and set her horse into a gallop down to the castle.

Cassandra’s horse quickly took the fore position in their group and raised the Inquisition banner as they got close enough for it to be recognized. The portcullis was raised so quickly, they didn’t need to slow down. After a few moments of dismounting and quick pleasantries with the grooms and other servants, the group was ushered into the castle.

As they walked through the halls, Leora noted that there were several places where the stones did not match--new stones had been hewn to replace broken ones, perhaps. In any case, this must be a fairly well-off area to afford such costly renovations.

In the main hall, they were introduced to Teryn Cousland, a middle-aged man whose dark hair was greying around the temples, but whose quick smile conveyed a sense of youthfulness. The teryn bowed respectfully to each member of the party, and said, “Inquisitors, you are welcome here, though I cannot say I am happy to see you.”

Leora still felt awkward with these introductory conversations, choosing to let Cassandra make the opening remarks and chiming in when she felt she had something to add. Truly, she did not see the need for any pleasantries or exchanges of names before they discussed the situation. But these were not her people and these were not her ways.

As usual, Cassandra stepped forward with her usual imperious air. “Then you know why we are here,” Cassandra asked, more brusquely than usual.

“From what I hear, demons are about to fall out of the sky at any moment.”

“You are not wrong,” Leora interjected. “You must marshal your troops at once. This…” she pressed her fingers into the bridge of her nose, hoping to ward off the pain that increased with each passing minute. “All I can say is that there is no time to spare.”

Teyrn Cousland’s eyes grew wide with comprehension and he nodded quickly before dashing away, shouting commands at his soldiers.

Leora turned back to the group who all eyed her gravely. “What is it?” Cullen asked, his face awash with deep concern. “Something is wrong… wronger than usual.”

“It’s the Veil,” Leora replied. “In the other places, it was thin already so it made sense that it would breach there. But here… It should be strong here, but it isn’t, and I don’t know why.”

“So it’s bad,” Varric said with mock levity and Leora shot him a dark look. “Okay, real bad,” Varric allowed.

A silence came over all of them as they each felt their eyes drawn to an open window. The sky was already darkening with the eerie green light forming high above the castle. It gave Leora a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach and, based on her companion’s ashen faces, it gave them a similar sense of foreboding.

Teryn Cousland reemerged, saying something over his shoulder in hushed tones. Behind him, Leora could see a very pregnant dark-skinned woman who was holding a young girl who must have been younger than four years old. The woman smiled apologetically before she disappeared behind a door. Leora prayed silently to Mythal, knowing if they failed here, that woman and her sweet child would be burned into her mind forever.

“My men are assembling at the gate as we speak,” Cousland said in a harried tone. “By the looks of things, you arrived just in time.”

“Have no fear, my lord,” Cassandra said with a confidence she could not possibly feel. “The Maker will deliver us all from danger.”

“Tell your men to evacuate everyone in the nearby villages to the castle at once, then meet us on the field.” He looked out the window where a green line of light began to pierce the sky like a crack in glass. “They should know where to go.”

“Of course,” Cousland said. “Please be careful, and Maker watch over you all.”

There was nothing more to be said and the five of them headed back to the stables. Leora felt as though she was being carried along by a current of fear, as though she had no real control over her body. Her body moved of its own accord, rotely accomplishing its tasks while her mind soared high above, into the widening crack in the sky.

She could not tell how long it took for the teryn’s men to reach them. Time lost meaning in these scenarios, which were exacerbated by the smothering of the sun’s light. They decided to hold their ground on a large stretch of farmland that appeared to be nearly under the breach, though it was difficult to say for certain how close they truly were as the greenline pulsed and undulated in the sky as though it were under many feet of water.

But then the humming began, low and tremulous, shaking the very ground they stood on. The teryn’s soldiers began to look around themselves in a panic. “Brace yourselves!” Leora shouted as she crouched low to the ground.

Seconds later, it happened. The breach exploded in invisible energy and green light, knocking everyone asunder. Leora managed to crane her head up to see the demons falling from the sky. Creators, there were so many--easily twice as many as she saw at Rosewood. They landed mere yards away and began to set upon the Inquisition forces in an instant.

Nearby, she heard Cullen yell out something indecipherable and his shouts were joined by the teryn’s men. They weren’t too terrified to yell, but it was still to be seen if they would be brave enough to fight these otherworldly monstrosities.

The time for such idle thoughts was over as they demons were near enough to make sense of their formations. They did not approach with strategy, only an insatiable hunger for blood and destruction. Leora caught sight of two Pleasure demons, all purple skin and displayed bodies. These could be some of the most dangerous as they delighted in twisting the minds of their foes to fight against their own comrades.

With an agile leap, Leora landed between them as they glided towards a small cluster of soldiers who were fending off a fiery rage demon. She jumped again, twisting in the sky with her arms outstretched, letting her blades slice into both of the demons as she turned and turned. One of them was injured enough to fall instantly, but the other was merely enraged and struck at her with vicious claws. Leora ducked under the demon’s arm and jerked her own upward in a wide arc, slicing the demon’s ribcage. Screaming, it collapsed in a hideous pile of dark blue gore.

The next closest foes were several skeletal hunger demons that seemed to have Varric in their sights. The dwarf was unloading his crossbow as quickly as he could but his bolts had little flesh to pierce on the creatures. Leora dashed behind their shambling bodies and decapitated each one with quick flicks of her arms. “Nice one!” the dwarf shouted before firing a bolt past her into the eye, or what passed for an eye, of a huge sloth demon.

There was no time for mutual congratulations as two corpses suddenly rose from the ground, still oozing blood and ichor. Behind her, Leora could hear the screeches of more demons that drew ever closer.

“I got these,” Varric shouted over the din of battle. And Leora turned and raced further into the chaotic melee at the center of it all.

There, she took down a rage demon and two more sloth demons. As she steadied herself, Leora foolishly allowed the notion that the battle was going well, that they were winning. And those fleeting thoughts were enough for her to let her guard down for an instant. In that instant, all of the sounds of battle drained away like water in a sieve until her mind was filled with nothing but deafening silence. Then she saw it: an enormous pride demon, three times her size easily, falling through the sky. It landed next to her and the force with which it hit the ground nearly knocked her off her feet.

She tried to concentrate, but all of her thoughts slipped away like sand through her fingers. The only thought that found purchase was that this demon had surely been looking for her. But even that thought was banished as large hooked claws wound themselves around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides, and lifted her straight into the air. The demon held her before its own face, which was a deep green with dozens of glowing eyes that exactly mirrored the pale green of the breach.

The rest of the world, the battle, her companions, melted away until the only thing in her consciousness was this demon’s hideous face and its crushing grip around her.

“You,” the demon’s voice boomed inside her mind. “Keen!” it shouted as though it were addressing her by name.

Saying nothing, Leora tried futilely to struggle out of its grip.

“I am Folly!” it shouted again, with a volume so deafening that it made her cry out. “Your foolishness has called to me. You think you can stop the sundering of the Beyond? You? One lone elf?”

“I have and I will!” she shouted back in her mind.

The demon emitted a terrible shrill sound and Leora suddenly realized it was laughing at her. “Merely papered it over, you have. The Veil stretches and cracks and the more you close its tears, the thinner it gets, the more tears you create! You know this, though you are loathe to admit it to yourself. You’re mending fabric that is falling apart in your hands.”

“Let me go and I’ll try my hand at you instead,” she mentally roared with far more bravado than she truly felt.

Folly tightened its grip around her with such force she thought her bones would break. It brought her so close to its face, she could feel its rancid breath against her cheek. “You will die, Keen one! You cannot succeed! You cannot stop--” its booming voice suddenly vacated her mind like air in a vacuum as its physical body gave out a howl of pain. Leora looked down and saw Cullen behind it, his sword plunged deep into the demon’s side.

As Cullen yanked his sword out and prepared to strike again, Folly turned toward him and casually threw Leora to the side as though she were made of straw. She sailed through the air, far from the battle and landed on the rocky ground with enough of an impact to fill her mind with darkness.

Dim. Alive, but dim. Leora was vaguely aware of the fact that she was lying prone on the ground, her body a fractured, tangled mess. Only shadowy images flitted past her eyes and only faint sounds reached her ears. She was in too much pain for it to actually hurt, but she could feel an icy coldness spreading throughout her limbs and knew she would soon feel Falon’Din’s grasp.

Then, a voice. It came so close to her, all warmth and sweetness like honey on freshly-baked bread. She swam back through the deep water that filled her mind to hear it more clearly.

“Leora,” it was Cullen’s voice. Of course it was. He killed that demon that threw her aside and wanted to see if she was alright. She wanted to tell him she didn’t mind dying, that he would have to find a way to carry on without her, that she was sorry they hadn’t known each other longer. But her lips were leaden things and even her hands could not find his arms.

“Vivienne!” he bellowed. There was panic in his voice, which was strange since she felt so calm and detached. “Vivienne! This instant!” He was louder that time. Then she felt small weights place gingerly on her shoulders, then her upper arms. It took her a moment to realize it was his hands she felt, no doubt testing the severity of her injuries.

“Maker, what happened?” it was Vivienne’s voice now, no longer cool and placid, but spiking with fear.

“Can you help her?” Cullen demanded. “I--we need her!”

Vivienne gave no reply but suddenly Leora felt the mage’s hands on her belly. Then she felt warmth diffuse through her body, pushing back the coldness inside her like waves lapping on a beach. As the warmth pushed its way through, her limbs began to feel leaden instead of nonexistent. Her shallow breaths grew deeper, and a slow, throbbing pain centered itself in her legs and back. A small sound escaped her throat and she managed to slightly open her eyes.

“Leora?”Cullen said, half-relieved, half-terrified. His face was inches from her, so close she could see the short stubble on his cheeks from where he neglected to shave that morning.

“Cullen,” was all she could think to say in reply.

His mouth broke into an unabashed smile. “Leora, listen to me,” he said urgently, wiping his eyes with his palm. “We need to close the tear. We don’t know which heart to use. The one from the demon who attacked you didn’t work.”

“Wrong one,” she murmured through heavy lips.

“Can you show us? Can you walk?” Cullen asked.

“Don’t be absurd!” Vivienne interrupted. “She barely escaped death. She’s stable, but will need much more care before she can do anything even like walking!”

Leora felt Cullen’s arms tentatively wrap around her and pull her close to him. She was surrounded by him, his strength and concern and luxuriated in the sensation of protection. He pulled her face close to his and said softly, “Show me where it is. Can you point?”

Weakly, Leora did as he asked and Cullen stood up with her still in his arms like a bridegroom carrying his beloved over a threshold.

*                        *                        *

Leora awoke slowly, burdened by terrible Fade dreams. For awhile, she simply laid down with her eyes closed, allowing the sounds of the world to slowly come to her. Truly, she had never expected to see another day.

When she finally opened her eyes, early dawn light diffused through the room and a mild morning breeze fluttered the white gauze curtains on the window near her bed. She was in the Highever Keep again, now lying in a bed that could fit four people easily. The room itself was clearly designated for important guests with its colorful tapestries and rugs and ornately-carved furniture.

Vague sensations of the previous night danced at the edge of her memory. She had a sense that Vivienne had worked on her tirelessly throughout the night, but where the mage went, Leora could not say. She was alone in the room, which she took as a good sign.

She attempted to rise from the bed, but her limbs felt weak and unable to support her body. She chucked softly to herself. As annoying as it was to be bed-ridden, it was certainly better than being dead.

A creak of an opening door caught her attention. A yellow-haired head emerged from the dark hallway. It was Cullen--of course it was. Once he made eye contact with her, she limply waved him inside. He was still wearing pieces of his armor and what was not covered in gleaming steel was simply his padding that he wore underneath it. The man had not been to bed yet.

Leora managed to greet him in a hoarse voice. He’d saved her yesterday, snatched her from the jaws of Fen’Harel. That was twice now, once from kidnappers and now from Folly. How could she begin to thank him? As she struggled with her own emotions, he pulled up a stool next to the bed and sat down next to her.

Leora looked away shyly, still unsure of how to face him, but knowing she needed to say something. “Looks like I needed a knight in shining armor after all,” she said quietly.

Cullen let out an involuntary laugh, but then worry and distress flooded his eyes again. He did not speak right away, did not even attempt to. He simply took her hand in one of his and covered it with the other and stared at it, as though ensuring it was real. His hands were warm and strong, and hers felt safe in them. Finally he looked in her eyes and she saw the red rims around his, either from sleeplessness or weeping or both. “You--” he began, in a voice barely above a whisper. “You gave me--us--you gave us quite a scare.”

Yes, she supposed she did. Leora had been lucky enough to be unconscious for most of it, so she did not realize the danger she had been in until she was awake. Cullen looked at her expectantly, and she felt the absurd compulsion to tell him she was sorry. “Abelas,” she replied. Her looked at her curiously. “It means ‘sorrow,’” she explained. “I regret causing you pain.”

Cullen winced and said, “No, I--” he looked at her hand again and a silence passed between them. Leora was unsure about his intentions, his reason for coming. Clearly he had wanted to say something to her, but was unable. When Cullen looked back at her, there was a new softness to his mouth, an clearness in his eyes. She had never seen him like this--unguarded, open--and it made her breath catch in her throat.

“Please don’t apologize to me,” he finally said in a low, hushed voice. “I should have been there sooner. I… failed you.” His amber eyes became misty and he blinked hard a couple times. Then he placed the back of her hand against his cheek. It was covered with rough new beard growth, something she had never encountered before. Somehow, it was strangely comforting and she found herself closing her eyes in contentment. “Please forgive me,” he said tremulously. “Forgive me, and I will never fail you again.”

Guilt stabbed Leora’s heart. Despite her enjoyment of his touch, she could not allow him to punish himself for what happened. “Nae, ma falon,” she said, a bit more sharply than she had intended. “No, Cullen. You did not fail me. That you found me in time was a blessing from Mythal herself.” Cullen opened his mouth to speak--to argue, undoubtedly--but she shook her head with more vigor than she thought she was capable of. “That demon, Folly, it came after me, targeted me specifically.”

“It--what?” Cullen asked incredulously. “How do you know this?”

“Because it spoke to me in my mind.” Cullen recoiled a bit at this, but recovered quickly and squeezed her hand more firmly against his cheek, as though doing so would somehow protect her. “It knew who I was,” she continued. “It called me, ‘Keen.’”

“What else did it say?” he asked, eyes wide in a mixture horror and fascination.

“It said that the Veil was disappearing and there was nothing I could do. It said we would never succeed and the world was doomed.”

“That must have been terrifying,” he said in a voice rich with sympathy.

Leora considered this for a moment. When the demon spoke to her, said those threats, her heart began to race. But it was not fear that she felt. “No,” she said with eyes full of wonder. “I was relieved.”

“Relieved?” Cullen asked. “Why?”

Leora smiled with a deep satisfaction. “Because I knew that it was lying.”


	9. Chapter 9

Cullen left Leora’s sick room and walked slowly out into the hallway, the weight of the last twelve hours leadening his steps. Leora had very nearly died--only the Maker’s gaze had prevented it. What amounted to a demon assassin had come after her, at some unknown enemy’s behest, most likely. Maker, who could wield such power? The thought sank like a stone in his soul.

The others were waiting for him in the foyer. Varric and Cassandra were standing impatiently and Vivienne was sitting on a divan, clutching a cup of tea. They all looked at him expectantly. With Leora out of commission, he had somehow become the defacto leader.

“This can’t continue,” he said, more to himself than to the group. His voice had pierced the heavy silence and Cassandra and Varric exchanged alarmed looks. Cullen straightened himself up and continued, “Without Leora--her unique abilities--the Fade will continue to crack and tear until it is no more. Then all of Thedas is doomed.”

“We all know that, Knight-Captain,” Varric replied, his voice strained.

“Then it is time we stop being so reactive,” Cullen said with more force. He looked at Cassandra and said, “You were right. She is being targeted by someone.”

Cassandra pressed her lips together in a contemplative frown. “You sound so certain. What brings you to this conclusion?” she asked.

Cullen began to pace in a circle, as he often did when he was deep in thought. “The demon that nearly killed Leora, it talked to her. It knew exactly who she was and how crucial she is to our mission. That can only mean it was sent.”

Cassandra shuddered visibly. “It is what I feared, then. There is an enemy that has us at a disadvantage.”

“Agreed,” Cullen replied. “And it is time to take the upper hand.”

“Love the sound of that, Knight-Captain,” Varric quipped. “But I’m guessing it’s easier said than done.”

Instead of replying to the dwarf, Cullen approached Vivienne. Her face was drawn from her exertions and her hands trembled. But she still looked strong and capable. Cullen could only hope that it would be enough. “Vivienne,” he said gently. “Do you have any idea of how Leora is able to close the tears? What magic she could possibly be using?”

Vivienne smirked into her teacup. “I have more than an idea. I know exactly how’s she’s doing it.”

“Truly?” Cullen asked in surprise. “Can you tell us?”

“Oh, I can tell you Ser Cullen, but you won’t like it.” Cullen said nothing, allowing the enchantress to continue. “She’s using blood magic.”

“What?” Cullen and Cassandra shouted in unison.

“Of course it’s blood magic,” Vivienne replied with amusement. “She’s digging hearts out of demons and sending them up into the fade.” Her brow furrowed with irritation. “What did you think it was?”

Cullen had to admit he’d given it little thought. The thought of Leora wielding blood magic was more than a little unsettling, even if it saved lives.

“That makes no sense,” Cassandra retorted in disbelief. “She’s not even a mage!”

“True,” Vivienne allowed, tapping a fingernail against her cup. “I don’t know what she is exactly, but she is not without magic.”

“Blood magic, dear Maker…” Cassandra muttered.

“Not all blood magic is destructive,” Vivienne replied. “Just as some regular magic can cause fires, some of it can heal wounds. Blood magic is no different.”

Cassandra still looked unconvinced, but Cullen had no patience for semantics. Blood magic or not, it was all they had. In the past, he would have steadfastly refused any hint of maleficarum, but times had changed. He had changed. Leora’s brush with death convinced him that they could no longer run all over Thedas trying to patch the holes in the Veil. “Can you use the same magic she’s using?”

Vivienne considered it for a moment. “I don’t think I can repair tears, but I may be able to temporarily prevent them. But I’d have to use her blood. Do you think she’d agree? Do you agree?”

Cullen hesitated. It did not sit well with him, but he could think of no other alternative. “Do it,” he said tersely.

Vivienne raised her eyebrows and nodded. “What do you have planned, Ser Cullen?”

“As I said before, we need to get out in front of all of this. If Vivienne can strengthen the Veil, we can stop this incessant and pointless travel and put our skills to good use.” They all stared at him. “We can find the source of the Breach and end it once and for all.”

Varric was taken aback. “Do you really think we can…?” he began in astonishment.

Cullen folded his arms over his chest. “I think that there is no one else.”

***

It took two days for Leora to be cleared for combat again. During that time, she was mostly left to her own devices, which was dreadfully boring. The long stretches of “rest” time were happily interrupted by Cullen who scavenged for food she might like and would sometimes read to her. He usually only left when a nurse came to change her bandages or chased him away so she could rest again, and it seemed he did so quite reluctantly.

When the nurses and Vivienne were satisfied, Leora was permitted to rise and dress herself back in her armor. It had been carefully cleaned and repaired, yet still felt like a second skin when she put it on. She took a quick look in a glass before she left the room, finally feeling like herself again.

The other members of the Inquisition were waiting for her and she wasted no time: “The veil is weak south of here, near the forest--” she began but fell to silence when Cassandra raised a hand.

“No,” she said sternly. “There’s been a change of plans.”

“Really?” Leora said irritably. Cassandra had been known to question her, even attempt to take control of the Inquisition’s forces. But she had never tried to dictate their missions. By unsaid consent, the entire group had deferred to her completely in that regard. Perhaps they found her too weak to trust after her injuries. Instead of taking on Cassandra, which would invariably result in a pointless argument, she ignored her and said in exasperation, “Just show me the map and I can show you where we need to go next.”

“No,” Cassandra said again, this time more emphatically. The human warrior crossed her arms over her chest. She was unshakable, but Leora could see there was more than willfulness here. Something had happened.

Cullen took his moment to intervene. “What we’ve been doing hasn’t helped,” he said, almost apologetically.

“Hasn’t helped?” Leora cried incredulously. “We’ve saved lives! You know we have!”

“But the Veil is still broken,” Cassandra interjected. “We are no closer to closing it than we were when we started.”

Leora bit her lip. It was true, but surely they could not stand by while demons rained down on Thedas. “Are you giving up?” she asked quietly.

“Never,” Cullen replied. “But we can’t pretend that what we’re doing is going to work in the long run. And it won’t work at all without you.”

So that’s what this was about. They were too worried about losing their ability to close tears. Without Leora and her keenness, there would be nothing between the demons and the waking world. Folly had as much as told her so.

“I’ll be more careful,” she allowed. “Stay to the back…”

“It won’t work,” Cassandra said, shaking her head. “There is no guarantee of your safety on a battlefield, as we’ve recently seen.”

Leora simply stared at them. Were they removing her somehow? Did they even have the authority to do so? Even Cullen was looking at her steadfastly, as though daring her to argue. It was maddening. She rubbed the sides of her nose with her fingers and said, “Then tell me you have an alternative.”

Now Vivienne rose, looking statuesque and more rested than she did the other day. “We do,” she affirmed, and handed Leora a small grey stone with strange carvings on it. As soon as her skin touched it, Leora’s hand began to feel warm as though the stone were shooting tiny flames inside her hand. “These will strengthen the Veil, at least for a time.”

Yes, she could feel the power within them, the warmth that both stretched and strengthened. “How did you come by these?” she asked, still staring at the small stone in her hand.

“I used your blood,” Vivienne replied matter-of-factly. “You left plenty of it around in the infirmary.”

Leora recoiled at the thought and looked between each of her companions, one by one. They had clearly had a discussion, perhaps numerous discussions, about this and had formulated a plan. Surely, their intent wasn’t to make her dispensable. “So you used my blood to create these runes,” she began warily. “What do you plan to do with them.”

“Teryn Cousland has offered to send riders to every major holding in the area, with instructions to deliver others even farther,” Cullen replied, looking somewhat satisfied. “With any luck, the entirety of Ferelden will be protected within days, with riders heading north to other nations shortly thereafter.”

“But you said these were temporary,” Leora said to Vivienne, before turning her attention back to Cullen.

Cullen nodded. “This is no permanent solution, which is all the more reason we must find one.” He gestured to Cassandra and said, “We now are fairly certain that the Veil tears are not a natural occurrence, nor did the Fade creatures cause them.” His expression darkened. “Someone, here in our world, has ripped the Veil apart, though what possible motives could exist, we do not know. What we do know is that we must find the source of the Breach if we have any hope of stopping.”

“Agreed,” Leora said quietly, pressing her hands together with her lips at her fingertips, pondering what it could all mean. When she looked up again, they were all staring at her expectantly. “You want… me to figure it out?”

“You must, for only you can,” Vivienne replied. “You must go into the Fade and find the source.” She picked up a tall metal cup from the table. “This will make you dream, but you will be able to act as though you were awake.” Walking to Leora, she placed it in the elf’s trembling hands. “Go dream, and when you wake, you will be able to tell us where to go.”

Leora stared at the blue liquid that seemed to foam and move of its own accord. This must be lyrium, the strange mineral that humans relied on for their magic. As far as she knew, a Keen elf had never tried it before and the prospect of being the first was daunting. Surely, Vivienne would not knowingly place her in danger, but the mage could not possibly be sure of what would happen when she drank it. Leora herself could not be certain, either, but it seemed such a small risk in the face of the Breach. Her Keeper had told her that being Keen kept her safe from the whisperings and manipulations of demons. It was time to see if she was right.

“I’ll do it now,” she said quietly,  and headed back to the bedroom.

Vivienne quickly joined her and said, “I will watch over you while you sleep.” It wasn’t an offer so much as an instruction. Apparently, not even Vivienne herself was completely confident of the result.

Leora said nothing, merely steeled herself for what she would do. Her brother had told her stories of the strangeness and dangers of the Beyond, of the malicious demons that lurked there, hoping to feast on the fears and weaknesses of those who were bold enough to walk through it. Leora had never wanted to verify his reports, but now she had no choice.

The room was still comfortable, cooled by an ocean breeze. Though she had hoped to never see the bed again, nor the memory of her recovery. But she had no idea how long she would be dreaming and comfort would be beneficial, to say the least. All of this ruminating about whether the bed was fluffy enough for her was just stalling. And Leora was not one to temporize.

Vivienne found an upholstered chair and took a seat, resting her staff on her lap, watching Leora intently but not impatiently. Leora climbed up into the bed--really, did humans need to sleep so far from the floor?-- and lay down, propping herself on her elbows so she could drink the concoction. A moment’s hesitation and she closed her eyes and poured the liquid into her mouth. It was unlike anything she’d ever tasted: burning and freezing simultaneously with a sharp, pungent aftertaste that scorched her throat long after she swallowed it, Yet despite the intensity, she did not find it unpleasant.

The cup placed aside, Leora only had scant moments to find a comfortable position before sleep overtook her like a sieging army.

***

Leora woke up… no, it was more like she opened her eyes within sleep, like a swimmer in deep water. Gone was the tranquil bedroom and stone walls. What she faced as she stood was a circular clearing in a twisted, rocky mountain range. Winding pathways shot off in multiple directions, their ultimate termina unknown. The air was heavy with a strange, odorless fog and the very ground seemed to be unstable, as if too rough a step would send it all crumbling away. About her feet, the ground flaked up whenever she took a step, and sent ash floating into the sky. Above her, the sky loomed heavily full of black clouds as though it were made of them. Small, localized thunderstorms in strange colors flashed within the clouds.

Leora looked at each of the paths in turn and sighed. She had no idea where to go. She readied herself to take a step at random when she stopped suddenly. A hideous demonic form lumbered towards her--a sloth demon, perhaps. They looked so different in the Beyond. Everything did. She readied her Dar’misu as it approached, unsure if her weapons would even have any effect.

She crouched low, ready to strike, when the Demon came within feet of her, its pace not changing. She stared at it in fascination as it abruptly changed directions, as though it had encountered an unpleasant sensation, and shuffled away.

Keeper Lanaya had alluded to Leora’s possible effects on Beyond creatures. Mages were generally irresistible to them, delicious nourishment and a way to escape the drudgery of the Beyond. But she was Keen, and that meant that she could only halfway enter the Beyond, as though she were separated from it by a heavy curtain. There would be no battles, no bargaining for her soul. She could look but not touch.

On a whim, she decided to follow the path that the demon entered from. As she walked along, Leora absently wondered how long she would have in this waking dream. Surely, Vivienne’s potion would not last forever. The path began to incline sharply and she found herself shortly on higher ground. Up on the crest, she could see that she was on a small floating island in a sky full of the same.

It was difficult to remember what her task was, in the blurry dreariness of the Beyond. Leora took a deep breath, or imagined she did, as it was impossible to truly do so in a dream. The air tasted like dust and dry earth. Her vantagepoint was vast enough that he could see the horizon in all directions. It would have to be enough.

Leora closed her eyes and listened. Without the distraction of the strange sights around her, she could tune her ears to the song of the Beyond. As always, it was a mournful dirge, one of loss and confusion. The song of the dreamers, lost to time.

The Beyond was also alive in its own way, but not aware. The Veil, as the humans called it, was its skin, and the Breach a wound. More than that though, she could sense there was a systemic infection--it strengthened the Demons and weakened the Beyond’s defenses. The only chance they had to seal the Beyond would be to find the source of the infection. But how?

Leora thought back to what Vivienne said about the protective runes she’d created: the necessary component was Leora’s blood. Acting on desperate impulse, she drew her dagger and carved a long line into her forearm. The blood did not drip as she expected, but instead floated up into the sky in a thick mist. She watched it slowly ascend, and it hovered over her head for a moment and she thought her strange experiment was a failure.

But then a bolt of silver lightning struck it from the sky. She felt the tremor shake her to the very bone and the impact threw her on her back. Her eyes shot open and she saw what appeared to be an enormous hole in the sky. No, it wasn’t an opening… it was a vision, a gift from the Beyond.

She saw countless people, elves and humans alike, forcibly marched into a city with walls so tall they seemed endless. As they marched through the portcullis, it slammed shut behind them and the walls shed red tears. The air started spinning, a black vortex of blood and darkness descended upon her. She squinted and searched for something, anything to tell her where this place was before her time in the Beyond was over…

A horrible scream assaulted Leora’s ears and she sat bolt upright in bed, suddenly realizing the sound was coming from her mouth. All of the Inquisition was hovering around her bed, faces in various stages of confusion and horror.

Vivienne was closest. “What did you see, Inquisitor?” she asked in a low, breathy voice.

“A city!” Leora sputtered. “A city made of chains.”

Varric and Cullen exchanged glances.

“Kirkwall,” Cullen said with a sigh.

“Of course it is,” Varric replied.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter explains why Cullen left Kirkwall and the Templars. It is extremely.. and I mean EXTREMELY intense with non-con sex. Trigger warning is in effect! Read at your own risk.

They boarded the first ship for Kirkwall the next day. It would be a two-week journey and they all seemed ill at ease as the ship slowly moved away from the port.

Varric seemed to take control as far as the entertainment was concerned, insisting that the entire group join him in the galley each night for stories, songs, and of course, drinking. A week in, and they had established a routine.

Cullen realized early on that it was Varric’s coping mechanism. They were going back to Kirkwall, the source of suffering from both of them. Varric’s way of dealing with it was distraction: company, alcohol, merriment, even if his insides were full of dread.

Cullen’s response seemed to be the opposite. As the others spent time socializing, bonding, Cullen found himself alone more frequently, seeking quiet spaces to sort through his memories, to try to make sense of everything. He’d left Kirkwall ignominiously, slinking away like a thief in the night, believing he’d never return. Clearly, his business in Kirkwall was unfinished and the Maker had plans for him.

The others had tried to draw him out, certainly, Leora in particular. As much as he longed to share in their enjoyment, he needed to parse his thoughts. The memories… of that fateful day in Kirkwall and all that had led up to it, plagued his dreams and encroached upon his waking thoughts. That could only mean one thing--he must be rid of them. And the only way to be rid of such thoughts is in the telling of them. But who to tell. He did not wish to burden anyone, not even Varric, who, out of everyone, would have understood.

One night, while everyone was carousing in the galley, he made an excuse and went below deck to where the wine casks were kept. It was damp, and a little noisy from the rocking of the boat. But soon he became accustomed to the creaking and the swaying, sitting between the barrels, lost in thought. One of the casks next to him had already been corked. And, as luck would have it, he’d brought his cup.

Some time later, he heard footsteps coming down the rickety stairs. He could try to hide, to scoot back to the wall, but his form was too big to find much cover between the barrels.

“Cullen? Are you down here?” The voice was Leora’s. It wasn’t someone who came down to replenish the wine stock above deck, as he’d expected. She’d come down there, looking for him specifically. A smile spread across his face that, try as he might, he could not attribute to the wine.

“Yes, I’m over here,” he said, rising up so that his head appeared over the barrels.

“Oh!” she said with a satisfied grin. “I’d wondered where you’d gone.” She walked over to him, and from the ruddiness in her cheeks, he could see he wasn’t the only one enjoying the wine that night. “What are you doing in here?” she asked, taking a seat next to him.

“Doing some sampling,” he replied, showing his half-drained cup. It was partially true, at least. She’s sat down, as though she expected to stay for awhile. The fact that she wanted to speak to him alone gave him a small thrill.

“Anything good?” she asked, indicating her own cup that was empty. He took it from her and filled it at the cask he’d determined was the highest quality. She thanked him and they sat quietly for a moment, sipping their drinks. “Varric said you’ve been avoiding us. He said it’s because you don’t want to go back to Kirkwall,” she said without accusation, merely with concern.

“He’s right,” Cullen admitted. “I've been… struggling of late.” He shook his head and looked down into the deep red wine in his cup. “Bad memories.”

Leora’s free hand found its way to his arm, rubbing it lightly. “Anything you want to talk about?” she asked “I’m a good listener.”

Her touch made his ears burn. That, and her kindness. Perhaps she was ready to hear what he had to say, perhaps not. Either way, he felt the need to share it. He smiled at her, though it was a pained expression that housed it. “You asked me once about… my experience with women, in light of my Templar vows.”

Her eyes grew wide, embarrassed. “I did… and it was presumptuous--”

“No, no,” he replied, covering the hand on his arm with his in a comforting gesture. “You asked me a question and I chose to answer. No one forced me.” He sighed and patted her hand. “I didn’t elaborate, not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't think you really wanted to know.”

“Does it have something to do with why you left Kirkwall?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “It has everything to do with it. I could tell you now, if you’d like. I’ve had enough of these to feel ready,” he said, indicating his cup.

“Please tell me,” she said in a low voice that was nonetheless full of the promise of understanding.

“You won’t like it,” he warned. “It isn't at all… pleasant.”

Leora made an impatient gesture with her fingers. “Go on,” she said.

Cullen took a deep breath and remembered.

 

*              *                *

 

Cullen made his way through the misty night air as quietly as he could. Outside of his normal, heavy plate armor, he found his simple clothes very conducive to stealth. He took routes that he was unaccustomed to, trying to keep his identity hidden until he reached the safehouse on the outskirts of the city.

Earlier in the evening, at the beginning of his shift, Knight-Commander Meredith had pulled him aside and whispered, “Knight-Captain, I need you to come to the Croxton safehouse tonight, once the men have started their rounds. Tell no one of this and come in disguise.”

Cullen had said nothing, but gave a small nod to indicate that he understood and would obey. A year ago, he might have questioned her as to the purpose of this errand, but in recent months, her relentless pursuit and punishment of those she considered to be disloyal had put him and all of the Templars on edge. The smallest infraction would result in at least a severe rebuke if not more severe discipline. The men were starting to grumble and desertions were becoming a problem--it was all Cullen could do to keep morale up and prevent an all-out mutiny.

Once he had inspected the men and sent them to their midnight patrols, Cullen headed towards Croxton house, on the western edges of Kirkwall. He could not deny the trepidation he felt in his heart as he walked on the long dirt road towards the lone structure that was used to house visiting Templars and other dignitaries who wished to avoid the hustle and bustle of the main streets of Kirkwall. He couldn’t imagine what Meredith wanted to speak with him about in such a clandestine way, but he knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant. Very little was these days with mage-Templar relations at an all time low and open conflict seeming to be an inevitability they could not ignore. What could she want to speak with him about in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere?

Cullen dimly hoped that he was being asked to oversee some new visitors, but the empty stable and dim lighting in the windows dashed those hopes. Arriving at the heavy oaken door, Cullen clenched his jaw, steeled himself, and pushed it open.

The small hallway was dimly lit with a smattering of candles. The interior of the domicile resembled its outside: stark, sparsely furnished, meant for function only. Typical Chantry design.

Cullen walked down the hall, poking his head through a few open doorways. Meredith was nowhere to be seen. “Knight Commander?” he called in a voice that cracked.

“I’m back here in the library, Knight Captain,” her deep voice called from the end of the hallway.

Cullen took measured steps toward her voice, steeling himself for what he imagined would be a difficult conversation, even though he had no idea about what the topic could be. Lately, all of his conversations with the Knight Commander seemed to revolve around him trying to quell her paranoid rants about the mages conspiring, preparing to launch a full-scale rebellion, the safety of the entire city, and so on to varying degrees of perceived catastrophe. However, those had been in the barracks, with his fellow templars around. This was the first time she had requested time alone with him, and a secret meeting at that. He was certain this would be extremely personal.

The back library was clearly the most used room in the entire building--most likely the chief meeting place--and therefore given the most upkeep and care. It was well-appointed with several carved wooden bookshelves practically bursting with important-looking books. Heavy deep blue drapes lined the walls, each embroidered with the Templar emblem. The wooden floor was covered with several large fur rugs and a cheerful fire blazed in the hearth

He spotted Meredith in the corner of the library near the fireplace, sitting at a small table with a large tome in front of her. He intended to give a formal greeting but the words died in his throat when he saw her attire. Instead of her normal heavy armor that resembled his, she wore a simple, pure white frock that was generally worn by recruits during the initiation into the Chantry. He had never seen her in anything other than plate mail and the fact that they were both now in clothing that would be considered strange, if not inappropriate, made him want to back out of the doorway and run as fast as he could. What was the meaning of all of this?

Once again, Cullen marshalled his resolve and said softly, as though a loud voice would break the tranquility of the room, “I am here, Knight Commander.”

Meredith looked up and took him in with her icy blue eyes. “Come in, Cullen,” she said in a way that was less chilling than usual. It almost sounded friendly.

He did as he was bidden and approached her, stopping short a few feet and crossing his wrists on his chest in a respectful bow.

Before he could ask about the nature of this meeting, Meredith stood and said, “Knight Captain, let me explain to you why I called you here under these circumstances.” She levelled her gaze at him and her terrifyingly bright eyes held him fast. “I wanted to have this meeting in secret out of respect for you and your service to the Templars.”

Cullen swallowed hard but could find no words to say. Meredith continued, “There have been… words spoken against you, Knight Captain. Dangerous words. I need to dispel these rumors before they go too far.”

“Rumors, Knight Commander?” Cullen asked, bewildered. “Who has spoken against me?”

“A mage I was… interrogating earlier today told me a disturbing story about you. I called you here to make sure it isn’t true.”

A mage? Spoke against him? Cullen’s mind reeled, and he searched his memory trying to find an instance of anything he’d done recently that could possibly be taken out of context or used against him. Nothing came to mind. Nothing at all.

“The mage in question told me that there are a group of apostates, escaped mages, who decided to get revenge on the Templars here in Kirkwall by using blood magic to enter the fade then planting demons inside Templars while they sleep. The demons could then be summoned to attack anyone within the city. Your name, specifically, was mentioned.” Meredith’s mouth twisted into a frown as she glared at Cullen with a searching gaze.

Cullen’s heart began to pound and he could hear the blood in his ears. “There is no truth to this, Knight Commander!” he protested emphatically. “I have heard nothing of rituals such as these and have taken no part in any magic by apostates or circle mages. There is no cause for any of these apostates to focus on me personally. In truth, I count no mage, not even an escaped one, a personal enemy.” He was starting to babble now, his voice containing an edgy note of near-panic. He took a deep breath and blinked hard, attempting to steady his emotions.

Meredith smirked and somehow became more intimidating. “If you were sleeping, how would you even know what had been done? And there need be no personal grudge to target you. Being my second-in-command would make you an ideal choice if they wanted to get to me.”

Cullen could not argue with her logic. Was it possible that a mage could have done this to him? The witch Idunna had tried something similar with Templars like Wilmod, but he became a full-fledged abomination and his bizarre behavior tipped Cullen off quickly. How, then, could a demon be inside him without his knowledge?

Cullen’s musings were interrupted by Merediths, cool, deep voice. “So you can see why I wanted to avoid the embarrassment of discussing this in front of others. Though I find it unlikely that the mage was telling the truth, I have to make sure for the safety of the Order. You understand that, don’t you, Cullen?”

Yes, of course, Knight Commander.” Cullen paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. “Though, if the demon has been planted without my knowledge, how can I prove that there is no demon inside me?”

“The mage was persuaded to tell me what signs to look for.”

Cullen felt some relief that there would be a way to prove his innocence. “What must I do?” he asked.

“Strip,” Meredith said flatly, as though she were asking to borrow a roll of parchment.

Cullen balked openly and Meredith’s expression became exasperated. “There will be scarring from the procedure on your back or legs. I need to check. Now, strip.”

Unable to shake a feeling of foreboding, Cullen reluctantly did as she commanded, removing his coat and shirt, then his trousers, leaving on his smallclothes which he dared not remove. Meredith picked up a taper from the table and slowly walked around him, scrutinizing every inch of his body. Cullen had never felt so small and helpless as she took the measure of him with agonizing slowness. It was like being an insect trapped under a glass.

Finally, Meredith stepped away and he was able to look her in the face again. Her expression was unchanged and his heart sank. “You do have quite a bit of scarring.”

“I have seen my share of battles, Knight Commander. “Surely the scars are from normal-- explainable-- injuries.”

“Perhaps,” she said, putting the taper down and rubbing her chin. “Still, we must be sure.” She turned to the table and picked up a small vial that had a greenish liquid in it. Meredith examined it for a moment, then held it out to Cullen. “Drink this,” she said, “and we will know for certain.”

Obediently, Cullen took the vial from her but could not bring himself to drink its contents. Instead, he rolled it between his fingers and asked, “What is this?”

“It’s a potion the mage told me how to make. If there is a demon inside you, if the renegade blood mages have succeeded, the demon will manifest itself.”

Cullen blinked hard in shock. “If that’s true, won’t it come after you?”

Meredith gave a dry chuckle. “I’m perfectly capable of handling a lone demon, Cullen.” She levelled another penetrating gaze at him. “Is there a reason you would hesitate to see this through? Are you hiding something?”

“No, of course not!” Cullen blurted out. As usual, Meredith managed to twist everything into some bizarre test of loyalty. And this was certainly the most bizarre yet. But he could find no way out of it, and, much as he hated to consume some unknown potion, he flipped the cap off and swallowed the liquid in one gulp. The taste lingered in his mouth: spicy and cool--definitely laced with lyrium.

For a few seconds nothing happened, and his relief was palpable. Then he felt a tingling in his hands and feet that rapidly spread through his arms and legs and then through the rest of his body. “What--?” he muttered.

Meredith leaned in closer. “What’s happening, Cullen? What do you feel?”

Before he could tell Meredith about the strange sensation, paralysis followed quickly and his legs started to give out. He tried to steady himself against the hearth, but his arms were too weak to support anything. His legs failing completely, Cullen’s body slowly collapsed to the floor. As he crumpled, Meredith called out his name and helped him down safely, laying him out on a large fur carpet in front of the hearth. “Cullen, what is it?” she asked sharply.

“My legs… my body… I can’t move…” Cullen managed to get out before the paralysis took over his throat and face. He could move nothing, not even his eyes. He lay there on the floor, prone and unable to lift a finger. What did this mean? Would the demon show itself now? He could still see Meredith who was standing to the side of him. She looked unafraid.

Meredith grabbed the taper and knelt down next to him, scrutinizing him carefully. “Can you move at all?” she asked. He could not even shake his head. “Can you feel any sensations?” Cullen focused and realized that he could: the rug was soft on his legs and back and the fire was warm. Without a reply from him, Meredith leaned closer and tipped the taper over his chest so that a drop of hot wax hit the exposed skin on his chest. His body flinched at the jolt of pain when it hit.

Meredith stood up and regarded him impassively. “So you can feel things, but not move. Interesting.”

Panic coursed through Cullen’s body. What was happening to him? Drinking the potion, believing what she had told him, he expected pain, a demon’s presence, any grotesque supernatural occurrence to take over his body. But the potion had clearly immobilized him and Meredith did not seem at all surprised. In fact, she seemed pleased. What was she doing?

Without another word, Meredith stepped over his inert body towards his feet, where his eyes were pointed. He took in the length of her: strong and poised as always, yet somehow seeming harder in her soft garment. Then her expression changed to a mask of malice that chilled his blood. In a swift motion, she pulled the strings that laced up her garment at her shoulders and her gown fell from her to the floor, revealing her naked body.

If Cullen could have gasped, he would have. If he could have averted his eyes, he absolutely would have. Confusion blasted his brain and he wondered if the potion had put him in some kind of dream state. This simply could not be happening. There was the Knight Commander, leader of the Templar Order, naked in front of him. Her silvery blond hair draped over her nearly as pale shoulders. Though she was of a more advanced age, her conditioning left her with taut muscles and an admirable shape. Her breasts rose and fell with her deep breaths as she looked at Cullen with triumph in her eyes. He had never wanted to close his own more in his life.

Meredith flashed him a mirthless smile and crouched down by Cullen’s feet. She wordlessly grasped the sides of his underclothes, pulled them off his legs, and cast them aside. He silently prayed that she would come to her senses, that she would stop what she was clearly going to do to him, even though he knew how futile those thoughts were. He could see her eyes as they devoured him whole and knew there would be no reprieve. He was helpless and they both knew it.

Suddenly, Meredith’s hand shot out and grasped his member, causing it to harden immediately at her touch. He felt his skin flush from the abject degradation of it all as she slowly stroked it, sending pleasure through him that was quickly followed by waves of shame. Her dark laugh startled him as she crooned, “You can’t move anything, it seems, but your body is working just fine.” She drew out the last syllable in a sickening purr. No one else had ever touched him like this and that his first time should be her… like this… was repugnant.

After a few moments, Meredith abruptly released his throbbing member and climbed on top of him. She lay her body across his and then moved slowly up towards his face, dragging her hard nipples across his chest. She pressed her lips to his ear and he felt her hot breath as she whispered, “I’ve seen the way you and your fellows look at me, Cullen. I know the lustful thoughts you have harbored towards me.” Cullen wanted to protest, to swear he never had, but had to remain mute and inert as she continued to taunt him. It didn’t matter if he had--this was her game, her cruel amusement--and he doubted she herself even believed what she was saying. “You see, Cullen, there is a demon inside of you, a wanton, libidinous one. I have called it up as I promised I would. And I mean to drive it out of you by any means necessary.”

With that, she sat up, and with another cruel smile, she positioned herself over his traitorous erection that strained to be sheathed inside her even as he was repelled by the very notion. Again, Cullen pleaded inwardly with the Maker to spare him this violation, to show him mercy. But there would be no mercy as Meredith lowered herself onto him, taking the extent of his erection inside her.

Cullen’s body convulsed involuntarily, overwhelmed with the sensation, and a gutteral sound escaped his throat. Meredith gave a mocking laugh. Then she began rocking her hips, sending bolts of pleasure through him even as he was overcome with nausea and despair. Every sensation was his to experience: the sweat beading on his torso, her nails digging into his hips, and, of course, the feeling of her slick insides as they moved around him. Meredith’s speed quickened, and she ground her pelvis into his, causing her to moan hideously with pleasure. It became quickly apparent that the potion’s paralyzing effects rendered him unable to release, which he was certain was intended. No, she planned to enjoy his hard member and a release for him would only prematurely end her enjoyment and render him useless as a plaything.

Instead, she used his body for her pleasure for what seemed like an eternity. After awhile, Cullen’s shame and degradation cooled into a dull misery coupled with a seething rage. And through it all, he was helpless. What humiliated him the most, though, was the knowledge that all of the subterfuge of this setup was unnecessary. There was no need to lie to him, to isolate him, to violate him in secret. In truth, she held so much power over him that she could have thrown him down in the barracks, in front of his fellows, and forced herself on him then and there, and no one, not even Cullen himself, would have stopped her. The fact that she lured him into her grasp with this ridiculous story about blood mages and secret demons made him feel stupid on top of feeling powerless, which was clearly her intention all along. She wanted him to feel a fool, to know he was gullible as well as powerless.

Finally, when she was sated and finished with him, she simply climbed off of him and walked out of the room without a single word. Cullen could still not move his body, nor wipe off his member that was still slippery with her pleasure. The room was silent except for the occasional crackle of the dying embers in the hearth. Early morning sunlight diffused into the room. It was a new day. He could feel tingling again in his face and extremities and was comforted by the fact that the potion was finally wearing off, that he would not be immobilized forever.

Why had she done this? Maker, why? He had been loyal, preposterously loyal to her. He had never questioned her, even as her methods and commands became stranger and more irrational. What could she possibly gain from doing this to him? If it was pleasure she wanted, she could have arranged someone from the Blooming Rose in secret--truly, they made half of their earnings off the Order. No, this wasn’t something she did for herself, it was something she did to him.

A few minutes later, Meredith returned, now clad in her typical armor in all its glory. Her face was expressionless as she she looked him over once again and he felt another surge of shame. “You will not breathe a word, or even a syllable of this to anyone.” There was not even a hint of uncertainty in her cold voice. “If you do,” she continued, looking out the window into the breaking dawn, “I will have you and your Lieutenants hanged in the Hightown square.” There was no question: she could and would do it. Of course she would. And what could he possibly do about it--whom could he tell? It was simple: nothing and no one. He was utterly alone. Meredith’s parting words solidified the iron grip she had on him. Now there would be no question in her mind-- she controlled him completely.

Meredith turned and walked out of the room without a sound. Cullen waited until he heard the front door slam before he let the tears fall.

 

*               *                *

 

Cullen told his tale, eyes fixed on his hands and the cup they held. He told Leora everything, glossing over some parts, using euphemisms where he could, but truly withholding nothing. He gave her every humiliating detail, but could not bring himself to look her in the eyes while he did it.

When he finished his last word, he looked over at her, knowing her expression would tell him everything. She stared at him, wide-eyed, hand covering her mouth. She was surprised, yes, but not disgusted. It was promising. “Not the titillating tale of forbidden love that you were expecting, was it?” he said with a self-derisive chuckle.

Leora let out an involuntary laugh and blurted, “No!” She composed herself again, letting her hand drop from her face. “No, it wasn’t. And it must have been hard to say it. I...am honored by your trust,” she said, looking away shyly.

“I didn’t dare speak it for a long time. I… I blamed myself for what happened,” he admitted, willing to lay himself bare before her. Why, he could not say, but something about her told him that he would be safe doing so. “But I learned that hiding it only increased my shame.” He found her eyes again, feeling more confident, bolder. “Sometimes, telling it is the only thing that keeps it from overwhelming me. So I thank you for being my audience.”

Leora nodded, but said nothing. She opened her mouth to speak, but then half closed it, tapping her bottom lip with her fingernail.

“Dear Maker, you wish to know more, don’t you?” he teased. “Haven’t I traumatized you enough?”

Leora blushed but her eyes did not waver from his. “If you’d be willing to talk to me further,” she replied.

“Only if you fill this up again,” Cullen said, handing her his cup. “Ask me what you will.”

Leora handed his filled cup back and asked with some hesitation, “Did she… did Meredith… ever call on you again?”

“No,” Cullen replied with finality. “Shortly after, she turned on the Champion and I saw my opportunity to defeat her for good.” He smiled and added, “But Varric would be a better teller of that story.”

Leora smiled back, but then looked hesitant, uncertain.

“More questions?” Cullen asked in mock exasperation. “Go on, then.”

Leora nodded and took a moment to compose her thoughts. “So… that one time? Was that the only time for you? With a woman?” She was blushing to her hairline, and Cullen’s sympathy for her was mixed with delight at her sweetness.

“No,” he said again, and not wishing to torment her, he continued. “Once I left Kirkwall, with only my armor and what little possessions I had accrued, I took work as a sellsword, anything to get away from that cursed place. Eventually I found myself on a boat to Ferelden, my home.” He paused, and took a sip of his wine. “It was then, about a month later, the Lyrium withdrawals kicked in.”

“Lyrium?” Leora asked, fascinated. “I have heard of it, but I thought it was for mages.”

“Templars use it, too,” Cullen corrected. “And after using it for awhile, you become dependent. Once it starts to clear your system, the side-effects are… intense.” She was rapt, waiting for him to continue. “I was plagued by devastating headaches, nightmares… I even started hearing voices. I found the only cure was very strong drink. Luckily, there was plenty of rum to go around on that ship.”

He realized that his answer seemed off the topic of her question, and clarified, “Most nights I got so blinding drunk, I’d wake up with little memory of how I arrived at my bed.” He grimaced and continued, “Sometimes, there was a woman in the bed with me, and though my memory was hazy, I knew full well what had gotten her there.”

“I see,” Leora said, looking a bit overwhelmed by the information.

“The Lyrium is cleared now,” Cullen said, trying to reassure her that he wasn't some lecherous drunk. “No more headaches or questionable behavior, I assure you.”

Leora laughed lightly and Cullen felt relief at her response. “I’ve said much, perhaps too much,” he said softly.

“Nothing I didn't ask for,” she rejoined.

“What about you?” he asked, surprised at his own boldness. “You said the Dalish reserve themselves for their wedding vows. So., how have you avoided marriage so long?”

She looked hesitant for a moment, as though he were prying too closely. Then she shrugged and said, “Marriage avoided me, I think.”

“Come on, now,” Cullen said gregariously, lightly tapping her shoulder with his. “I’ve bared my very soul to you. The least you could do is reciprocate a little.”

Leora laughed again, and he joined in. “What can I say?” she asked, more seriously. “I may have… experimented with love here and there with boys when I was younger, but it never went very far. They always seemed to find their way to someone else.”

“Seriously?” Cullen asked, unable to keep the surprise from his face or voice. “Why on earth would they do that?”

“Honestly, I think it’s because I’m Keen,” she said in a low voice, eyes averted. “They thought I was strange. Everyone did.”

“Rubbish,” Cullen replied. “Madness. Fools, the lot of them.”

Their eyes met and Cullen felt something pass between them, an intimacy, a shared knowledge, a chance to change their interaction in an interesting way. She was leaning in towards him, almost expectantly. But before he could realize the implications or act on his impulses, the moment passed. She leaned back, her face was content, but there was something else as well. Disappointment, perhaps?

Leora stood and offered Cullen her hand. “We’d better get above deck before Varric writes a tawdry tale about us.”

Regretfully, Cullen took her hand and followed her back up the stairs, towards the galley, towards their future. Towards Kirkwall.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally got back to this fic. I hope it was worth the wait!

The remainder of the voyage to Kirkwall was uneventful. The weather was fair, the seas, calm. After their intensely personal conversation, Leora noticed that Cullen abandoned his solitary ways and joined in the nightly carousing of his little group, though he remained somewhat reserved. She also noticed that he seemed to look at her differently, with brighter eyes that lingered longer than they had before, and a small, knowing smile that he used only for her benefit. She told herself that it was because they had deepened their trust and cemented their bond of friendship. Somehow it was still inconceivable to her that anyone would think of her in a romantic way, least of all a strong, handsome, fascinating man like Cullen.

The day before they reached Kirkwall, Leora’s thoughts increasingly turned to the task at hand. Something in the very air spoke of dangers and mysteries, and her anxiety grew as they neared the shore.

Finally, it was time to disembark, and barely had Leora’s foot touched the ground when she felt a terrible wrenching feeling inside her, as though all of her life force were being siphoned out. She involuntarily doubled over, and had to lean against the side of the ship as her companions walked past her, not seeing her distress. Finally, Vivienne appeared, head looking from side to side, eyes burning, searching. When she caught sight of Leora, she rushed to her and crouched down next to her. Up close, Leora saw her stricken expression and muttered, “You feel it too, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Vivienne breathed, looking from Leora to the sky. “There is something very wrong here.” She looked back at the Dalish and asked, “what do you feel?”

“It’s like… it’s like…” she attempted, then faltered and wiped the cold sweat from her brow. Time was passing, and the longer she spent on this accursed land, the more accustomed she became to the sensation. Unsure if that growing numbness was desirable or not, she looked back at Vivienne, gathering her strength, and continued, “There’s nothing here. No magic, no dreams--nothing. It feels like a forest after a fire.”

Vivienne nodded grimly and leaned closer to Leora. “I didn’t want to panic anyone,” she whispered, “but I tried to cast a spell when we landed--just to see.” She scowled at looked at the imposing city walls. “I couldn’t. Nothing happened.”

Leora wondered if it was Vivienne herself who was closest to panicking, as truly the mage looked a big overwrought. “It doesn’t surprise me,” Leora said quietly. “It’s like the Beyond has been buried here, far underground. And I have no idea how such a thing could happen.”

Vivienne stood and helped Leora stand on shaky legs. She looked determined, with her usual confident expression that verged on haughtiness. “You were right that this is the place it starts. Let us solve this mystery and leave this place to the Void.”

“The sooner the better,” Leora agreed, as Vivienne led her inside the city walls, where the rest of the group would surely be waiting for them.

 

Weary from the long journey, the Inquisition made its way to the Bersinger estate in Hightown. As they traveled in carriages, Vivienne chattered about their destination--how she had sent messages ahead of them to make arrangements, that Lord Bersinger was currently in Orlais and they would have the run of his estate as well as his servants.

Leora glanced out the window of the carriage, her nervousness settling into her stomach like a stone at the bottom of a pond. If the keep near Verchiel had made her nervous, this city with it huge walls and endless stone roads made her want to crawl out of her skin. She’d spent her life in the forest, never seeing bigger buildings than the small village houses and Chantries she’d happen to visit in their trading expeditions. Here, surrounded by cold rock and tall structures, she felt closed in, like the victim of an avalanche.

Her eyes flitted around nervously, taking in the cityscape, while her fingers drummed an unsteady beat on the wooden bench she sat on. When she looked away from the spectacle, her eyes traveled across from her and met Cullen’s. He smiled at her in commiseration and Leora chided herself for being so wrapped up in her own distress that she’d completely forgotten the memories that likely plagued him. Her eyes grew questioning, not wanting to speak and call attention to his plight.

He took a deep breath, nodded slowly, and mouthed “thank you” to her with a grateful expression.

Minutes later, they arrived at the estate and Vivienne set out, ordering the servants around and making the stablehands hop to attention. She cast a smile at the group over her shoulder, clearly in her element, and motioned for them to follow.

Leora was astonished to find that everything was already prepared for the group upon their very arrivals--rooms arranged, clothing laid out, food and drink waiting. She cast one glance the two elven servants who were clearly waiting for her commands and dismissed them immediately, as kindly as she could. The thought of her kinsfolk slavishly serving her was abhorrent. After all, she was used to taking care of herself and Kirkwall would not present an exception.

She had only been in her room a few minutes when Vivienne appeared with a large paper-wrapped parcel, looking put out. Leora cast a questioning glance around the room and Vivienne smiled. “I sent some messages in advance of our departure from Highever,” she said by way of explanation. Then her expression soured. “What’s this I hear of you running off your attendants?”

Leora did not budge. “Attendants, is it?” she asked with narrowed eyes. “They looked like slaves to me. I know how my kind is treated in cities.” Vivienne opened her mouth to object, but Leora raised a refusing hand. “I’ll not be waited on by my kin--no, not by anyone. So, don’t even bother trying to convince me otherwise.”

Vivienne raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. She said nothing for a moment and the two women looked at each other in stony silence, neither accustomed to giving in. “As you like,” Vivienne replied, with an almost humble bow of her head. “But you may need… help--if that’s not too strong a word--getting into this.” As she spoke, she unwrapped the package she brought. Opening the box, she revealed an exquisitely ornate gown in a deep red with opalescent gems sew into the neckline. Vivienne lifted it out of its box and as the light hit it, the red seemed to shift into a glittering gold. In all, it was immense--a full, flowing skirt, and a gold sash at the waist that would inevitably drag on the floor.

Leora stared at it a moment as Vivienne demonstrated its many features and intricacies. Finally, Leora blurted, “You can’t--It isn’t--” She took a deep breath and said finally, “I’m not to wear that, am I?”

The mage’s face did not lose its pleased expression. “Of course you are, darling,” she said in a soothing voice. “There’s a ball in your honor in two day’s time. You don’t expect to wear that armor, do you?”

Feeling somewhat diminished, Leora looked over her Dalish armor, then realized the real issue wasn’t what she was wearing at all. “A ball?” she asked in bewilderment. “Is that some sort of sporting event?”

Vivienne’s tittering laughter filled the room. “No of course not,” she said in amusement. “My, but you Dalish have quite the lifestyle, never having heard of a ball,” she mused. “No, a ball is a… party of sorts. Everyone dresses up in their finest. There’s food, music, dancing--”

“Dancing?” Leora asked, her voice reaching a sort of panic sound. “You can’t be serious!”

“Dancing is very serious here,” Vivienne countered. “The new Viscount D’Agnac was raised in Orlais and wants to bring a touch of their elegance to Kirkwall. Your arrival has given him just the excuse he needs to show off his cultured upbringing.”

Leora wanted to laugh--it was so absurd. The thought of her wearing that monstrosity and dancing the Remigold with the nobility of the Freemarches! What could be funnier? But Vivienne wasn’t joking in the slightest. “You can’t be serious,” she finally said.

“I’m completely serious,” Vivienne responded in the tone of one giving a military command. “I know you’re used to taking your enemies head on, with blades flying. But that will not do here in Kirkwall.” She looked out the window at the looming towers of the palace in the distant. “We have an enemy we do not know with powers we cannot understand. The very ground of this place is… wrong somehow.” She levelled a penetrating gaze at Leora. “We must be clever here. We need allies. This party you scoff at is how we get them.”

Leora opened her mouth and then closed it. As much as she hated to admit it, the Enchantress was right. And, truly, her objections had been based on her own fears and insecurities, not on what was best for the Inquisition. She looked down at the dress and traced her finger on the impossibly smooth fabric and the multiple sparking stones. When she looked up at Vivienne, her eyes showed the anxiety she felt. “I don’t have the first idea…” she began, but found herself growing silent.

Vivienne’s expression softened. “I know,” she said softly, patting Leora’s hand in a gentle, bolstering gesture. “That’s why I assigned you some ser--helpers. But if that doesn’t suit you, I will see to your education personally.” Leora looked up at her, wide-eyed. “After all,” the mage continued with a confident smile. “We have only a couple days to turn you from a wild warrior into a refined lady.”

***

The next two days flew by in a flurry of etiquette activities. Vivienne took it upon herself to instruct Leora on how to behave at a fancy ball, from her entrance to how she held a glass. It was maddening and infuriating, but she kept telling herself that it would be brief, and for a good cause. First impressions were everything, Vivienne kept reminding her, and they only had this one chance to secure the cooperation of the people of Kirkwall.

The night of the ball arrived and Leora was grateful that it would soon be over, for weal or woe. It took four attendants--human ones at Leora’s insistence--to get her prepared for the event. She was bathed, hair yanked into a ridiculously elaborate headdress, fingernails varnished, face painted, body stuffed into horrendously uncomfortable undergarments. Finally, she was painstakingly sewn into the dress.

When she stood before the glass, she barely recognized herself. Her posture was noticeably stuff, and she had no idea what to do with her hands that were laden with heavy jeweled rings. Her hair was twisted into different sized mounds on her head with long curled strands hanging down with strings of deep read beads woven throughout. A heavy gold brocade sash was tied about her waist that was unnaturally small due to the corset that constricted her breathing. The dress itself had a neckline that was almost embarrassingly low, with bare shoulders, and a bodice adorned with shining gold beads. A full skirt with a train that was sure to impede her walking more than the ridiculous gold shoes with stilts for heels that she’d somehow squeezed her feet into. As she surveyed herself in the mirror, her eyes kept being drawn back to the fabric of the dress that shifted from red to gold and she realized Vivienne had chosen it because it matched the color of her vallaslin.

As if Leora’s thoughts summoned her, Vivienne appeared in an incredibly elaborate white and lavender ensemble that Leora couldn’t begin to understand. Vivienne clapped her hands together in delight when she saw her Dalish protege. “Fabulous!” she said, giving Leora a long look up and down her body. “We might just pull this off!”

“Let’s get this over with,” Leora muttered.

Vivienne motioned towards the door and Leora slowly walked on shaky legs. “Maybe we’ll have people come to us instead of doing a walkthrough,” Vivienne mused to herself and Leora groaned in agreement.

They walked into an empty hallway--the servants had disappeared with alacrity, it seemed. Leora glanced around, looking for… well, looking for Cullen. And Varric and Cassandra, too, naturally.

“Everyone’s already at the estate,” Vivienne replied. “You took the longest to prepare and we had to have some presence there for the Viscount’s introductory speech.”

“You mean it’s already started?” Leora asked in alarm. “How long was I in there?”

“You can’t rush beauty,” Vivienne replied with a smirk. “Besides, it’s better if you make an entrance anyway. No one expects you to be on time.”

Leora sighed and continued making her way down to the entryway, looking forward to being in a carriage for awhile to give her pinched feet a rest. They rode in silence--Leora’s silence. Vivienne spent the entire time giving last minute reminders and advice to the Dalish who couldn’t drown out the Enchantress’ voice with her own thoughts no matter how hard she tried.

They finally made it to the Viscount’s Keep, and Leora had never seen anything so massive. The walls themselves stretched upward, past the point of comprehensible sight. From the battlements, heavy, colorful tapestries were hung, many of them bearing the flaming eye, the mark of the Inquisition. As with many human structures, it was made from immutable stone with tall windows spaced evenly on all four of the walls. Leora’s breath caught in her throat and she mumbled, “Creators,” at the sheer size, the grandeur of it all.

Leora and Vivienne were spirited away to a side door by an officious red-headed man that Vivienne addressed as “Seneschal.” He scolded them for their tardiness, but the enchantress seemed nonplussed and allowed him to lead them to a large entryway. As she peered inside, Leora could see the ball was already in full force with elaborate music and scores of people dancing inside the enormous room--she could barely call it a room--it was more like its own castle. The ceiling was so high, she was surprised the sky could contain it.

“It seems the Viscount spared no expense,” Vivienne said quietly, clearly pleased. Before they descended the enormous staircase that was covered in a rich red carpet, Vivienne held her arm across Leora, stopping the Dalish in her tracks. “Wait to be announced,” she said primly.

They both looked over to the Seneschal. He cleared his throat and said loudly, with relish, “First Enchanter Vivienne, Madam le Fer and…” he faltered, looking at Leora as if he’d never seen her before.

“The Inquisitor,” Vivienne muttered towards him with a venomous look.

“And the Inquisitor!” he finished in a cracking voice. He bowed hastily and practically sprinted away.

Vivienne sighed. “It’ll have to do,” she said with pursed lips. With a sweep of her arm, she indicated the main floor where she saw, much to her chagrin, that everyone was staring at them. Vivienne seemed to revel in the awestruck looks, but Leora practically recoiled against the mage. She scanned the room to look for a friendly face, but none of her companions seemed to be there. She absently wondered if she’d even recognize them if she did see them in such bizarre clothing. Well, probably Varric--but she didn’t see him, either.

Her search was interrupted by Vivienne’s hand on her elbow, carefully leading her down the endless staircase, into the thick of it all. Using the Enchantress as a crutch, Leora was able to navigate the steps in her ridiculous shoes without stumbling. Indeed, her slow gait seemed to attract the attention of the revelers who took it as some sort of innate gravitas. She glanced at Vivienne, whose imperious air was palpable and cursed inwardly. The Mage had planned this, too.

A distinguished-looking man dressed in green and purple was quickly making his way towards them. The people he rushed by stopped whatever conversation they were having to watch him pass, which could only mean he was the Viscount. Leora glanced back at Vivienne, her nervousness apparent, but the Enchantress looked straight ahead at the approaching Viscount, her face placid and pleasant. No more hints then, Leora though. I’m on my own.

“My dear Madame de Fer,” the Viscount said, taking Vivienne’s hands and bowing deeply. “Words cannot convey my rapture at your gracious presence in my home.” He was a middle-aged man, with shoulder-length black hair that was graying at the temples. He was shorter than she expected, not much taller than herself, but he carried himself with such dignity that it made him seem taller.

“The honor is mine,” Vivienne replied in a smooth voice that Leora had come to know as one of flattery. She then gave Leora a little shove, moving the Dalish front and center. “It is my pleasure to introduce Leora, the Inquisitor.”

Remembering her intense education over the last two days, Leora said nothing, but bowed her head respectfully. After many attempts to teach her the proper greetings to the various dignitaries she was sure to encounter, Vivienne eventually decided that Leora should speak as little as possible, rationalizing that it would give her an intriguing and mysterious air.

“Yes, of course,” Viscount D’Agnac said exuberantly, grasping Leora’s hand and pressing her knuckles to his lips. “The tales of your beauty are grossly understated.”

“My beauty?” Leora echoed, bewildered that an Inquisitor’s appearance should even be a conversation topic.

“Yes,” he continued, oblivious to her discomfort. “I have heard how you are both deadly and lovely. And since one of those descriptions is true, the other must be at well.” He smiled at his own cleverness and Leora blinked hard to keep her eyes from rolling.

Before Vivienne could intervene and rescue the conversation, a pair of humans, a man and a woman in decadently rich garments appeared behind the Viscount. “Is this she?” the woman with blonde ringlets asked the Viscount.

He nodded and smiled broadly. “Lord and Lady Notham, may I present to you First Enchantress Vivienne and Leora, the Inquisitor.”

“Charmed,”The red-haired and redder-bearded Lord Notham replied, bowing to each of them. His wife followed with a deep curtsy of her own. Vivienne and Leora mirrored their gestures, with Vivienne naturally creating the better form.

Leora ran her fingers along her hairline, already feeling sweat start to form. To say she was uncomfortable was not doing her uneasiness justice. The room was feeling unreasonably warm and the stilted conversation only made her more aware of that fact. She scanned the room again, looking for her companions--anyone with a recognizable face. Again, she saw nothing but a sea of strangers.

When her attention came back to the conversation in progress, they were all jabbering something about the Inquisition’s holdings in the area. At least that topic would be of some use to her.

“I hardly think those holdings are suitable for you,” Lady Notham was saying to Vivienne, with a brief glance in Leora’s direction. “Surely we can do better than that!” she continued emphatically.

“Our mission makes it necessary for us to do without,” Vivienne replied cooly. “More arms, more soldiers--that is what will make a difference.”

“Yes,” Leora joined, her voice a little louder than required in the sultry room. “What we are up against will surely overcome us if we do not equip ourselves against it.” Her voice had softened and she looked at Vivenne for approval, feeling like a simpering toady for doing so. As usual, Vivienne’s expression was unreadable.

“Of course, of course,” the Viscount replied almost dismissively. “We shall do our utmost to meet your needs, naturally.”

The two nobles suddenly turned to Leora, as though they had just noticed her. “And what do you think of our glorious city,” Lord Notham said. “I imagine it’s quite different from your… forests and such.”

Leora felt heat rise in her cheeks, caused more by indignation than embarassment, though that was also a factor. The worst part was that the condescending noble was absolutely correct. Everyone was looking to her for some kind of witty response, most likely complimenting their city, and she struggled to find anything appropriate to say. “It’s very different,” was all she could manage.

If the three nobles noticed her discomfort, they gave no indication as the Viscount opened his mouth to reply, in what she expected to be more infuriating, affected “banter” when an elven servant meekly approached with a platter of goblets filled with bright red liquid. The three humans barely looked at the lad, simply taking the proffered drinks, and turned their back on the waiter, as though he were some lowly thing. The indignation she felt earlier was compounded and blood began to boil in her ears. These were the people she meant to save somehow, at the cost of everything? These empty-headed, shallow peacocks? The worst part was, at this moment, she needed them far more than they needed her. She was supposed to suck up to them, fawn all over them, and shatter her self-respect in the process.

They were babbling about the vintage of whatever concoction they were imbibing and Leora at least had enough sense to withdraw from the conversation until her temper cooled. Just as she began to back away, the blonde noblewoman caught sight of her and attempted to engage her in more meaningless conversation. “Do the Dalish enjoy such lovely drinks as these?” she asked Leora, before turning to her husband for verification. “I can’t imagine there are distilleries in the woods, can you, darling?”

Lord Notham chuckled, “Where would they put them? In mossy caves or some such?” The three of them had a laugh and Vivienne’s eyes grew wide, glaring at Leora in a kind of warning.

Unable to stomach their superciliousness for another second, Leora replied in a mostly even voice, “The Dalish have no need of distilleries or other such frivolity.” She could no longer see the point in letting them believe they were somehow above her because of the fussy food they ate and the tortuous clothes they wore. What good would any of that be in the face of an army of demons? “And you should perhaps think to the future yourselves. If the Breach comes, all of your finery will be nothing but ashes in the wind.”

The three nobles looked at her with shocked, open mouths. Well, she’d gotten their attention at least. Vivienne cleared her throat and gave a reassuring smile. “The Inquisition’s aims are to prevent that, of course. We all look to Kirkwall as the height of grandeur and want nothing to dim its glory,” she said diplomatically.

The Viscount and the Nothams exchanged distressed glances. “Thank you for your well wishes,” the D’Agnac replied to Vivienne with a stiff bow as the three of them quietly withdrew.

Vivenne scowled at Leora. “Well that went well,” she whispered sarcastically. “Did you listen to nothing I said?”

“So I’m supposed to just listen to their insults and giggle and toss my hair?” Leora retorted in a low voice. “I said this was a bad idea.”

“And so went out of your way to prove it,” Vivienne glowered. “Can’t you think of the larger picture, the end goal? So you have to make nice with some idiots for an entire night. Think of what their money and influence could do for us, the difference it could make!”

Leora looked away, feeling suitably abashed at the Mage’s rebuke. “They weren’t taking any of this seriously,” she said weakly. “I had to remind them--”

Vivienne held her hand up. “They are well aware of what’s going on,” she countered. “They just choose to put that aside for a night of enjoyment. Can you blame them? You know well how bleak it is out there. You could have allowed them a small amount of indulgence, to gain their favor, if nothing else.”

Leora’s arms fell to her sides and she hung her head. “Did I ruin everything?” she asked miserably.

In response, Vivienne drew herself up to her full height, all majesty and splendor in her sparkling gown. “Nothing I can’t smooth over, darling.” she said looking at the retreating back of the Viscount. Then she returned her eyes to the Dalish with a concerned expression. “Maybe leave it to me from here out, though.”

Nodding silently, trying to avoid Vivenne’s pitying look, Leora turned away and shuffled to a side door in an area that was mostly unoccupied. No one appeared to notice her anymore, the fascination in the exotic Dalish seemingly evaporated. She looked back over her shoulder at the dancers in their overwrought clothes, the banquet tables piled high with ostentatious delicacies, even the floors polished to an impossible gleam. All of this--in the Inquisition’s honor, in her honor, She scowled, wanting none of it.

As Leora placed her fingers on the door handle, she looked up briefly to see a burnished looking-glass hanging on the wall just to the side of the doorway. It was as if a stranger looked back at her, painted and twisted into knots, with an uneasy expression that was the strangest still. She took a step closer, examining how the light played on the colored beads in her hair and tentatively reached to touch them, unsure if the reflection would do the same. She watched the girl in the mirror touch the smooth, shining spheres but felt nothing, her gloves intercepting any possible tactile sensations. Which one was real? The one she saw or the one she moved?

With both hands on the door handle, Leora tore herself from the mirror and rushed outside. The blast of cool air made her breathe deeply, awakened the very pores in her skin. She nearly stumbled on the uneven stone walkway that led away from the Keep, and kicked off the ridiculous shoes to places unseen. Next, her gloves disappeared as she peeled them off and cast them aside as she continued walking, heading for the side of the building. She began to pull the beads out of her hair, letting it tumble down her shoulders and back, when she suddenly heard voices. Two male voices. Ones she recognized.

“No one would blame you for being impressed with her,” one said. It was most definitely Varric.

“It’s not--it’s more than that.” Cullen--it had to be. “I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Alright,” Varric said with uneasiness in his voice. “So you’re interested in her. There’s no law against that. Just… just tell her how you feel.”

“How--how could I possibly? She’s our leader--she’s the blasted Inquisitor!”

Leora’s mouth fell open, and any doubts that she had that Cullen might be referring to her were dashed. It wasn’t that she was displeased by the revelation. Far from it, she realized. But to learn of it this way--by eavesdropping--was distressing. And she seriously doubted that Cullen wanted her to learn of his feelings for her in this manner. The door was only steps away. She could simply retreat, go back the way she came, and pretend she heard nothing. Cullen could tell her what he wanted--or not--as he wished. And she, well, she could pretend that he hadn’t said anything at all. Perhaps in the cold, morning light of sobriety, he’d rethink it all, and this way he wouldn’t have to un-tell her anything…

Her endless musings and rationalizations on the subject caused her to miss the end of the men’s conversation and the next thing she knew, Varric was saying, “You enjoy that--I’m heading back to the party,” as he turned the corner and stopped cold, both of them shooting shocked expressions at the other.

Varric recovered more quickly and a sly smile spread across his face. Leora shook her head with pleading eyes, but he simply called out, “Why, Inquisitor! How nice to see you.” Leora’s face fell immediately. “The Knight Captain wants to speak with you. He’s right behind me!” The last part was said almost comically loudly and she glowered at him as he slipped by her, chuckling to himself. “Trouble-maker,” she whispered as he passed by.

“You’ll thank me later,” he muttered goodnaturedly as he disappeared back into the hall.

She took a deep breath, steeled herself and walked around the corner. Cullen stood there, looking expectant, leaning against a balcony railing, perfectly illuminated in the light of the low-hanging moon. They both said nothing for a moment, merely taking the other in. Cullen was not in his customary armor, or the traveling clothes that she had also seen him wear. Instead, he wore a deep blue doublet with gold piping and embroidery. Underneath was a pure white shirt that billowed at the forearms and gathered at the sleeves. His trousers were also black and they looked soft and rich as they tucked into his shiny black boots that had surely never seen a day of wear before. Just as she had taken care to highlight Leora’s best features, Vivienne had done the same with Cullen, who appeared to Leora as a stately and handsome as a knight from the old stories.

It took her a moment to come to realize that he was also stared at her, his rapt expression indicating that he most definitely approved. She also realized that she had just spent the last few minutes putting herself in disarray and wondered if he found her slightly disheveled state off-putting or preferable.

Cullen blinked a couple more times and held out his hand, a request for her to approach. She did so, legs moving almost by their own volition. She stood mere feet from him, but the silence persisted, so she swallowed hard and broke it, “You wanted to talk?”

“No--yes--I mean, I think I must at this point,” he stammered. “I’m sorry… It’s just…” He sighed, clearly irritated at his own flustered speech. Finally, he took a half step forward, eyes dark and intense. “Forgive me for the length of my gaze… It’s just, you look so different--beautiful, I mean. You look so beautiful, Leora,” he managed.

Leora blushed, and a smile forced its way onto her lips. “I ought to, for how long it took to get me like this,” she said with a gleam in her eye.

“It’s quite a change.” he agreed, sounding more confident now they had shifted topics slightly. “I’m just glad you didn’t trip--that dress is a bit too long, isn’t it?”

“Well, it was the right length before I took off the shoes Vivienne made me wear,” she replied, casting a glance back towards the path she had entered from, where her undoubtedly-expensive shoes lay somewhere.

“It’s all a bit fussy, isn’t it?” Cullen commiserated, fingers playing with the intricate clasps on his doublet. “I can’t imagine wearing clothes like these on a regular basis.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Leora said with a playful smile. “Yours make you look quite the dashing knight.” She boldly ran her fingers along the delicate stitching on his arm, then looked into his eyes, with an appreciative gaze. “It suits you well, Cullen.”

Cullen smiled in response, but then his expression faltered, growing visibly frustrated. “You see, it’s that, right there,” he cried, turning away.

“What is it?” Leora asked, her voice hitting a high, panicked note. “What did I do?” The hand on his arm grasped it and she pulled, half-turning him to face her.

When he saw the confusion and concern on her face, Cullen’s expression softened and he came closer, his hands clasping her elbows. “It’s… the things you say,” he said softly, head inclining towards her. “I… want to think that you regard me as something more than a knight in your service, more than a… a friend.” He smoothed a piece of hair from her temple and hooked his finger under her chin. “Do you? Or is this just a game to you?” His words were harsh but his face and eyes were not--in fact they pleaded for gentleness. “Do you mean what you say, or is this just another round of ‘Tease the Templar?’”

Leora was acutely aware of the tension, delicious and raw, that swelled in the air around them. Cullen’s touch, though behind a glove, brought her pulse to racing. His desperate words and the desire in his eyes produced a fluttering in her stomach, which could only mean one thing. There could be no doubt how real her feelings for him were. And to deny them--when he was standing there with her, opening up his heart--well, that was entirely unthinkable.

“Cullen,” she said in a breathy voice, a coy smile playing at the lips she brought a hairsbreadth away from his. “You aren’t a Templar anymore.”

Nothing more needed to be said. Cullen took the invitation as it was offered, and brushed his lips against hers in a kiss that was tender and searching. Leora’s arms wound around his neck and his hands pressed against her back, as their bodies melded together. Time stood still and all of it--the battles, the hardships, the Inquisition itself--faded away. All that remained was a man and woman, in each other’s arms, kissing in the moonlight.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first part of ch 12

Leora awoke to sunlight streaming through her window, the morning half spent. She propped herself up, wondering where everyone was. Her thoughts drifted to Cullen, the feel of his lips and hands. They’d been quickly interrupted by revelers spilling out of the hall and were separated for the rest of the night. Varric had found her soon after and many glasses of wine later, she was escorted back to the estate. Cullen still hadn’t appeared again, and she’d half-expected him to knock on her door in the night, wanting more of her as she did him. But he hadn’t, and she had slept the night away in a drunken haze.

The other bed in the room, the one previously occupied by Cassandra, was already vacated and impeccably made. The Seeker had made good on her promise to not let Leora sleep in an unoccupied room, and her presence was barely felt. It was a thought that was both comforting and troubling to the Dalish.

A dull pain settled behind her nose and forehead, more than deserved from the previous night’s libations. Sighing heavily, she rose and found her normal clothes, her finery from the night before thrown over a chair in the corner of the room, gladly forgotten. Once fully dressed and feeling like herself again, she made her way into the expansive hallway.

Servants and clerks were bustling by, and Leora kept her body flush with wall to let them pass unobstructed. The smell of hot food drew her to the dining parlor, where, once again, everyone was already assembled. She’d have to speak to them more forcefully about letting her sleep too long. 

Her eyes roved from one person to the next, noting almost immediately that Cullen was absent. Perhaps he’d been allowed to sleep in as well.

Vivienne approached her with a cup that steamed and pressed it into her hand. “I’m pleased to tell you that we’ve managed to secure some forces and resources in the city, should they be needed, despite your best efforts.” What pleasant expression Leora had given the Enchantress upon taking the tea quickly vanished.

“Glad to hear it,” she replied with a grimace and turned towards the breakfast that was spread on a side table. Filling her plate with a few dishes that didn’t make her stomach turn, she sat down next to Varric, who was finishing his meal.

“Rough night, Inquisitor?” he asked with a wry smile. “Or not rough enough?”

Leora groaned and poked at some poached eggs with a fork. “Remind me never to trade drinks with a dwarf.”

“I’d have thought that everyone would know not to do that,” he said with a chuckle. “But, of course, we both know that’s not what I meant.”

Sinking further down in her seat, Leora turned her attention back to her breakfast. “Trouble-maker,” she muttered.

“What?” he asked with mock sadness. “You mean, you didn’t enjoy yourself with--” he began, but his words were interrupted by heavy footfalls in the hallway.

“Cullen!” Leora cried as the knight burst into the room. 

“The very same,” Varric replied with a knowing wink.

Leora spared him a quick scowl and rose to see that Cullen was out of breath, flushed, and definitely overwrought about something. “What’s wrong?” she asked, approaching him. 

“I’ve been making inquiries all morning,” he said to the room. “And I’ve received word from the Templars who remain in Kirkwall. They’ve agreed to meet with us, much to my surprise,” he added, running his hand through his hair nervously. “Perhaps they can tell us more about what’s going on here.”

“It’s as good a place to start as any,” Vivienne agreed, a spark in her eyes. The lack of magic in this city must make her uncomfortable indeed, Leora thought. 

“Then we’ll go see them immediately,” Leora replied. Cullen gave her a relieved look in return and she searched his face for some sign of affection, some acknowledgment of what they’d shared the night before. But Cullen was all business right now. Whether he’d show his softer side again was anyone’s guess.

“We should all go,” Cassandra interjected. “Just because they used to work with you doesn’t mean they’re our allies.”

“Agreed,” Cullen said regretfully.

“I’ll stay here and deal with Inquisition business--I have several leads I should follow up immediately,” Vivienne offered. She gave Leora pointed look and the Dalish read her meaning clearly. Without her magic, Vivienne was worse than useless--she’d be a liability. 

Leora nodded at her and addressed the others: “Equip yourselves and be ready for anything. We’ll meet at the entry as soon as we can.”

When they reconvened, the other three began walking without saying so much as a word. Leora found herself following them, suddenly realizing that she was the only one who had no idea of their destination--indeed, she was the only one who was new to the city. 

A few minutes in, and Cullen slowed his pace enough to allow her to catch up to him. A quick glance was all it took for her to notice how ill at ease he seemed, even though he knew the city as well as a native. “What troubles you?” she asked so quietly, she was uncertain if he’d even hear her words.

“It’s nothing,” Cullen said unconvincingly. Then he looked over at her, his expression dark, almost haunted. “Just… memories.”

“I understand,” she replied and tentatively touched his arm in a gesture of comfort.

Her touch caused him to start slightly, breaking him from his thoughts. Before she could withdraw her hand, Cullen caught it and squeezed it slightly before releasing it again. Then he turned his eyes forward and said no more.

They made their way to a place that Varric remarked was called “The Gallows,” an ominous name if ever there was one. To Leora, it did not differ too much from the part of the city they had been in already, the part called “Hightown,” as it was all massive stone edifices and an endless labyrinth of alleys and courtyards. She was more than relieved that the others had such a firm knowledge of the layout, as she was certain she’d be hopelessly lost in no time.

The Gallows did have one recognizable feature, though: a series of doorways blocked by thick iron grates. She quickly noted that most of them appeared to be closed, and had likely been for some time. All of the bars in the archways made the entire place look like… “A jail,” she breathed. Leora was so disturbed by the enormous prison she’d walked into that she barely had time to notice that the other three had abruptly stopped and she had to step out of the way to avoid colliding with Cullen’s back.

The other three stood staring, now in a huge courtyard, at… what? Leora searched where their eyes all seemed to be resting and saw… nothing. They were staring at nothing. 

She was about to ask why they’d stopped when Cassandra, who had led the group, turned back to the other two with wide, astonished eyes and said, “The statue…”

“It’s gone,” Varric observed with a similar look on his face.

Leora looked at Cullen, who said nothing, but looked back at the other two with a stricken expression. She glanced around the courtyard and saw several huge bronze statues of men that were in strange positions, but the other three did not seem to see them at all.

Again, she opened her mouth to speak, more irritated this time, and demand to know what they were going on about, when Cassandra abruptly began moving again. “These Templars have a lot to answer for,” she muttered. The other two fell in line behind her and Leora felt compelled to follow, or else be left behind completely. As she passed by the center of the courtyard, she thought she spied a strange black stain, which glistened almost red in the hazy sunlight. As she neared it, she felt a strange swirling in her stomach, replacing the dead numbness that Kirkwall had accustomed her to.

She meant to mention it to the group, but a moment later they had arrived at an impressive stone doorway. Two Templars stood in front, stoic and imposing. Cullen stepped forward and addressed them both in a voice that was firmer and more forceful than she had ever heard him use. “Alert the Knight-Commander that I am here.”

One of the Templars, face completely hidden by a heavy helmet, nodded, pressed his fist into his chest, and departed. Cullen looked back at the rest, and Leora could see the tension around his eyes. It was more than bad memories and the discomfort of being back at this place, something bothered him. And she couldn’t deny she felt it too, first with that strange mark in the courtyard, and now, even more. Something strange radiated from the two Templars, some sort of distant hum, a sense of energy that sparked around her. It puzzled her until she realized that it was magic. The rest of the city had dulled her sense of it to the point that it became unfamiliar. Now, in the presence of these two men, she became Keen again, even as the cold, dead feeling pushed against her, as though trying to force out the faint sense of magic.

The Templar returned and gestured into the heavy door. Cassandra stepped forward and the second Templar barred her path. “The Inquisitor only,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice.

“What is the meaning of this?” Cassandra demanded, bringing her face close to the slits that served as the Templar’s eyes.

“Orders from the Knight-Commander,” he replied stoically. “He agreed to meet only with the Inquisitor. The rest of you must stay here.”

“Why is a Seeker of the Divine denied?” she asked through gritted teeth. Leora held her breath, wondering how far Cassandra was pushing it. The woman was not used to being refused anything and was clearly taking this interaction as a personal affront.

The Templar remained unmoved. “Knight-Commander’s orders,” he repeated.

“You cannot expect the Inquisitor to go in unaccompanied,” Cullen interjected. “Allow me to escort her. There are no secrets beyond those doors that I don’t already know.” He placed his hands protectively on Leora’s shoulders, and the Dalish found herself smiling slightly.

The Templar looked between Leora and Cullen and simply gave them a curt nod. “Enter, then,” he replied. “The other two wait here.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to protest, but then gave them a resigned look before stepping away. “We’ll wait here, should there be trouble,” she said, glaring at the Templar on the final word. 

Cullen nodded and entered the door with Leora only a step behind. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimly-lit interior. More stone, but this was covered with heavy tapestries emblazoned with the flaming sword of their Order. The faceless Templar led them to some sort of banquet area where food and drink was already laid out.

“The Knight-Commander will be with you shortly. Please sit and help yourselves,” he said, indicating the meal. Without another word, the Templar turned and hastily exited the room.

Leora watched him go, then sat down at the table. A bowl of fresh fruit--apples, mostly--and a plate of cheese and bread lay before her. The thought of eating it did not sit well with her still-queasy stomach. She glanced over at Cullen who had seated himself in a chair next to hers and was inspecting a carafe of wine. He placed it back on the table, his brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t touch any of this,” he warned. “Offering food, it’s… highly irregular.” His eyes roved over the room, still retaining a worried expression. “All of this is… odd.”

Leora felt anxiety settle in the pit of her stomach, making a nice counterpart to her lingering nausea. “There is something strange about this place,” she agreed. “I can feel the magic here, and it’s different…” she trailed off, suddenly remembering that she’d kept the numbness she had felt a secret between herself and Vivienne.

The furrow in Cullen’s brow deepened. He glanced around again, as though making sure that no one was within earshot. “Perhaps it’s the Lyrium. The Templars use it, and I doubt you’ve had much occasion to be near it before now.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Leora agreed, unwilling to broach the subject of Kirkwall’s strange separation from the Beyond. There would be time for that later. She exhaled a long, shaky breath, hoping to dissipate some of her nervous energy. It didn’t work. 

A silence fell between them, as it so often did, but these lapses were beginning to feel more comfortable, as though they were the natural inclusion in the discourse of people who were close. Or, at least, she thought they were close. But Cullen’s behavior had been erratic, and she was still battling the frustration of not knowing where they stood. “I’m glad you came in here with me,”she finally said, needing to interrupt her own careening thoughts as much as break the silence.

“I wouldn’t let you walk into a place like this alone,” Cullen responded, gesturing to the intimidating surroundings. “And I couldn’t protect you out there.”

“Protect me?” she asked with pursed lips, desperately wanting to stop...blasted...talking, but unable to prevent herself from continuing. “At least your interest in me goes that far.” The words flew out of her mouth, and she winced. Creators, what are you going on about? And here of all places? She felt heat spread across her cheekbones and she wanted to stop gazing into his warm brown eyes, but couldn’t do that, either. With all they were facing, the importance of their current task, and she was sulking about her latent feelings of rejection. 

“Oh!” Cullen said in surprise. Then a slow smile crept onto his lips. “Oh,” he repeated, with a clear understanding of exactly what she had meant. He leaned in closer, and said in a low, enticing voice, “My interest in you is far vaster than just that, I assure you.”

Leora found herself smiling in a way that mirrored his expression, her anxiety disintegrating as his face hovered next to hers, staring into her eyes intently. “That’s good…” she managed, barely above a whisper. “I… can’t believe I’m even talking about this now.”

“We’re just waiting here. What else do we have to do?” he asked, his smile morphing into a smirk. It was a rare thing, smugness from Cullen, and despite how much she wanted to be annoyed with him, she only wanted to kiss him again.

“We never… talked about what happened,” Leora began, still feeling awkward about discussing their private matters in the Templar stronghold. 

Cullen appeared to be less restrained. “What’s to talk about?” he asked playfully, as he slowly stroked the back of her hand with his finger tip. Metal gauntlet on leather glove, and still even the faintest touch from Cullen sent a ripple down her spine. “I’d rather do something other than talk.”

Her smile widened, but before she could lean in those final inches and claim his lips, as she desperately wanted to, the unfortunate memory of what she perceived as his coldness towards her drove her back. “It appeared that you wanted to do neither this morning. What was I to think?” she asked pointedly.

Cullen frowned and leaned further back as well, but covered her hand with his instead of withdrawing completely. “I had to… be sure…” he began, looking into the middle distance. He closed his eyes and opened them again, the smile vanished, but replaced by something more earnest. “The mission… the Inquisition… it’s so vital,” he stammered, visibly irked by his lack of fluid speech. “I had to prove to myself that I could still maintain my role, be valuable as your knight.” His other hand found its way to her cheek and her breath caught in her throat. “I needed to know that you hadn’t completely distracted me, Leora. You see, I can’t let anything cloud my judgment, not even you.” 

Leora’s heart was racing, and she felt that same draw to him, like the turning of a wheel, constant and inescapable. “I… distract you, do I?” she asked, pulling further away, but eyes welcoming him to pursue. Her focused had narrowed to the point where only Cullen existed in her senses. So enraptured she was by this sudden intimacy, she didn’t hear footsteps in the balcony that looked over the hall, nor the telltale twang of a bowstring pulled tight. Neither of them did.

“Completely,” Cullen replied in a husky voice. And pursue he did as he reached out, grasped her shoulders and pulled her towards him in a swift motion. A gasp caught in her throat as she suddenly found herself out of her chair and practically in his lap, her nose brushing the tip of his. They had no time to enjoy it as an arrow immediately embedded itself into the wall behind where her head had been less than a second ago. Another quickly followed and landed inches from the first. Leora’s head swung from the arrows back to Cullen, whose expression had completely changed from soft to hard.

He acted without preamble, without noticeable forethought. Fueled by instinct alone, he wrapped his arm around her waist and used the other to upend the heavy oak table, sending bowls and cups clattering to the floor. “Ambush!” he bellowed, quite unnecessarily, pulling the two of them to the ground, the table providing a barrier between them and the archers.


End file.
